A Twisting Heart And Mind

by FangamerBowiextreme

While unknown to her, Sarah has succeeded in obtaining the one thing the Goblin King has desired for hundreds of years -power over the Labyrinth. After being hidden for years from his diabolical wrath, Sarah finds herself alone and vulnerable as Jareth's dark desires are finally allowed to rear their ugly heads. As always, the only question is, are things really as they seem?

37. Chaos Bound

A/N- Alrighty. I am done. Or...as done I can be at least. I know I mentioned in the last author's note that this chapter is incredibly important. With that said, there is a just as important disclaimer I need to put out there before you begin. If you don't think you need disclaimers and don't want spoilers, do not read the remainder of this note or the following words in caps.

THIS CHAPTER CONAINTS INSTANCES OF MULTIPLE CHARACTER & INFANT DEATH. Anyone who may be sensitive to such, or suffer any traumas or triggers over pregnancy complications, stillbirth, loss of a loved one, etc., may wish to either tread cautiously or just skip the first portion of the chapter all the way until the SECOND page break (about a third in). I cannot say you won't lose out on a lot of the emotional context for the remainder of the chapter, but you will still know what is going on. While I planned out this chapter years ago, it has since become much more personal to me, as I was able to write it based on several of my own experiences and the experiences of close friends. Saying that, I hope it's conveyed as authentically to you as it felt for me. Alas, I've done my best. I don't think I need to say any more until the end, so...

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Chapter 29, Chaos Bound

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A flower twirled from above, pinched between two fingers that twisted it by the stem. It was white —a daisy of some variety. Its silhouette fractured the blinding eye of the sun as it shone from behind. Like a gorgon it was, Davion mused, punishing those who admired too directly with its painful radiance. T'was as quiet as a gorgon's den as well. As somber and empty, and filled with bitter, petrified things.

Davion sighed and lowered his eyes as the flower fell limply from his grasp.

The midday sky was an unblemished blue. Nary a cloud or haze, nor a dusting of pale, feathered strokes rendered high from the heavens would validate for him the odd weight that seemed to linger in the atmosphere. As the minutes passed, that weight had become an ache —palpable deep in his temples. The sun shone brightly. Too brightly. He'd gotten used to candlelight, it seemed. He winced as he slouched against the bench he and Jareth were sitting on.

"How long has it been?" he asked, shifting about as he crossed then re-crossed his legs. Jareth, sitting stiffly with a crystal clutched in hand, stared intently in any direction that did not face his brother.

"Sixteen hours," he replied.

Davion sighed heavily through his nose and rolled his head back, having to close his eyes tightly as he inadvertently caught the gaze of the sun once again.

"Is that normal?"

Jareth's countenance hardened, though he did not respond right away —fighting off the impulse to growl instead.

"I don't know. So they say."

"How long was Mother's labor?" Davion asked. Jareth blinked slowly then squeezed the crystal tighter.

"Was I supposed to keep track of such a thing?" he countered. Davion pursed his lips and cast his brother a side eye. The King was tense today —although he knew it had little to do with him.

"Well, you were fourteen. I figured you might remember."

"Why are you here?" Jareth asked, patience wearing thin. Davion quirked a brow and sat up, ignoring whatever trace amount of hurt he may have just felt.

"Are you going to send me away?"

Jareth paused. He said nothing. Davion felt the tug of a frown worming through, then glanced away.

"I'm not here to irk you. Cade sent word to me of her labor. I merely want to support her."

A snide huff called over Davion's attention. He turned to look at Jareth and saw him sneering down at the crystal he held.

"What? You don't believe me?" Davion asked. Jareth, with a slight shake of the head, sent the crystal away and turned to look at his brother.

"Not particularly, no."

Davion frowned.

"Well, as unbelievable as it may be, I consider Aurelia my friend. Did you think I wouldn't be here for the birth of her child?"

He held Jareth's stare, held it unblinking. Jareth had a very vexed look on his face, and then he glared away.

"You're also my brother," Davion went on. "That still means something —to me, at least."

His voice tapered as he said that, falling silent with an air of discomfort. It'd been five years since he'd last seen his brother. Five years since he abandoned the only home he'd ever known to wallow his days away in the cold dark of the north. He thought...things might have smoothed over by now. He thought... Jareth might have actually been happy to see him.

"Are you worried?"

Davion spoke frankly, though the tension in his brow was twisted with sympathy. Jareth was scowling, sitting in that way that Davion knew meant something bad for some unfortunate soul. Davion glanced down to see Jareth's hands were resting in fists, and fought the natural urge to reach out and clasp him by the shoulder.

Jareth did not respond. Davion looked away again.

"Sixteen hours sounds like a long time. Has there been no news?"

Early that morning, a message from Aurelia's maid, Cade, had reached him. It told him the Queen was in labor —and that was all. Of course, by that point, it'd already been ten hours. He was bothered that the news had come from a maid rather than his own brother, and could only wonder if Jareth ever intended on informing him at all. Nonetheless, it would take more than Jareth's cold shoulder to deter him. Aurelia was always kind to him. He liked to think they were close. He dared venture back of his own accord —to support his sweet sister and surprise an understandably ornery Jareth.

"None since you've arrived," Jareth said, low and slow.

Davion scowled at the ground as he spied a littering of plucked daisies he'd anxiously picked apart.

"I don't like this. It's too quiet."

"Of course it's quiet," Jareth snapped. "It'd be concerning if her screams could be heard from this far away."

Davion peered over and stared, his brow furrowing slowly.

"So you're not worried?" he asked. Jareth, feeling the creep of his brother's scrutiny, shifted in his seat.

"There's no point."

Davion frowned again. Jareth had crossed his arms, glowering sharply over at the castle as if that passed for casualty.

"You didn't answer the question."

Jareth's grip on his arms tightened. This sunny, summer day was bothering him. The sweet tweet of birds was bothering him. His brother, who should know better than to insert himself during a situation like this, was bothering him. He felt his teeth grind as he imagined the screams in question, as he counted the minutes that had passed over hours and hours with no word, let alone a scream, whatsoever.

A curt huff was his response, followed by a poorly concealed grimace as he promptly stood and walked away. Davion, in surprise, followed swiftly after.

"Wha—where are you going?" Davion asked.

Jareth felt his ears flex, a consequence of how tightly he was grinding his teeth. He did not respond to his brother, merely kept a brisk step or two ahead of him as he reentered the castle. Davion's frown worsened as he stared at Jareth's back. The King was now angry. And his castle...was far too quiet.

Before long, they entered the east wing. The Queen's wing. It, too, was quiet. The doors remained closed. The servants, astray. —Not that this was to be considered unusual. No, the past decade of paranoia had thinned the castle's staff to its bones.

And yet, anxiety welled as they walked farther down the hall. Silence sped. Curiosity, concern —each thumped with a ravenous pulse with every step they took.

Aurelia's room was in this hallway. Was just a few paces ahead. Davion could see the door. He recognized it. And...there was not a soul around. Not a sound made. That wasn't right. It shouldn't be...so quiet.

Davion peered at Jareth as an intrusive thought burrowed in his ear.

"Jareth," Davion said, stopping dead just before reaching the room. In reaction, Jareth halted and looked back.

"What?"

Davion said nothing. He couldn't. The look Jareth regarded on him, however, had him huffing harshly once more as he turned away from it.

"Do you really intend to go in there?" Davion asked abruptly. Jareth paused as a hunch formed in his shoulders. Though he was loath to admit it, they both knew that their thoughts were mirrored and that he, too, was in fact worried. Davion bit his cheek as he warred with what to say. "You know it's forbidden. Even for you. Seeing her now would be a dishonor…" Those words were weak, were compromised. Davion stood stiffly as he wondered why he bothered saying them. Jareth looked even more on edge now. Alvra forbid he ever be told no. "I'm sure she's fine. They would call for you otherwise. Shall we simply...wait out here? They will come out when there is news."

He prattled on out of propriety but lacked the sentiment entirely. In fact, they could hardly be spoken without the waver of insecurity, of fear, of the pathetic, sullen, premature admonishment that Jareth himself had been struggling to choke down.

Jareth glanced at the floor, jaw tightening in contention over what to do. Davion was right. This was now a sacred place. He did not belong. He had no right. But...she was right there. On the other side of that door. It was just some wood and nails. There was nothing more than precedence to stop him. Yet...he waited. He contended. And, no matter how intently he listened, he could not hear anything beyond it.

This was stupid.

There was no reason for him to wait on anyone or anything.

He was the king.

He made the rules.

He had every right to be in that room.

To see her.

Them.

To make sure she —they— were alright…

Davion did not intervene as he watched Jareth fist his hands at his sides before opening the door and marching fiercely, alone, into the room.

Tension had heightened all of his senses, but it was the smell that hit him first. It was pungent. Something strong enough to catch him off guard and stop him dead in his tracks. Sour. Of rot. The door slammed shut behind him, and his nostrils flared as the overbearing scent of blood flooded his next inhale—

"Wh-Your Majesty?"

One of the physicians noticed him. Her head shot up at the sound of the door, allowing her wide, addled eyes to stick brazenly to him. Her white linen robes were stained red to the elbows. Jareth's attention had just enough time to regard this fact before the remaining seven looked over and followed suit.

"His Majesty has come?"

"W-what is he doing here?"

"Did we call for him?"

"Sire, I-I'm sorry but—"

He'd taken half a step away from the door by the time they rushed him. Worried things draped in dirtied rags scurried at him like mice. A few of them held up their hands, either to shield him or shoo him. Regardless, that had been their mistake. The palms of their hands were dappled in red.

"Your Majesty, please, you cannot be here—"

Jareth glanced down at the leech at the head of the fray, a short, bespectacled madam, one who was now wiping her sullied hands clean on the apron covering her robes.

"This is no place for a man. If you wish, I will speak with you in the hall. Her Majesty cannot be seen. I am sorry, but I must ask that you—"

"What is taking so long?"

Jareth's curt interruption silenced her in a heartbeat. The old woman drew back, frightened by the cold regard in his eye.

"E-excuse me?" she asked. Jareth's steely countenance endured.

"You heard me."

The head midwife gulped and composed herself, making herself a stoic example for her younger underlings —who were already cowering at such a display of impropriety.

"Her Majesty is...having a difficult labor," she said. Jareth arched a brow. "We...were just now deliberating if it was time to send for you."

Jareth's eyes flickered across the room while she spoke. Much of it was obscured by fretting midwives no doubt determined to martyr themselves in the effort to occupy his field of view. He did not see Aurelia's maids. He supposed they were with her.

"Why?" he asked.

"She has caught a fever," replied the madam. "We've tried many things, but...she hasn't responded to treatment. The child refuses to crown. She's lost a lot of blood—"

Jareth growled.

"Move."

His command was low. Was resolute —as was the cutting look in his eye. The elder midwife fell to silence mid-sentence yet again, her mouth hanging open dumbly as panic seemed to brighten the highlight on her spectacles. Such looks reflected in them all, Jareth noticed, before his impatience took initiative for them and shoved them out of his way.

There was a dining table further into the room, it was masked with stained linens and bordered with tubs of water that shouldn't have been tinted so dark. He ignored it. He ignored everything he saw, and smelled, and thought, and instead headed blindly towards her.

The women followed after him, as if such efforts amounted to anything, as he rounded the corner to face Aurelia's bed. The silence he'd felt in the hall echoed louder in this room. Before the nurse had noticed him, in that split second, he'd seen them all congregated —intent in discussion. To summon him or not, why were they not around her instead? Caring for her?

Unnerving thoughts formed a pit of dread in his gut as the air of blood in his nose took its affect, and he found himself praying for a sound, any sound, even just the faint gasp of a breath—

"Y-Your Majesty, this is highly unprecedented. Please!"

The midwives scattered around him, arms raised to somehow shield the obscenity. Their farcical efforts were unneeded, however. He stopped on a dime all on his own.

He hadn't realized how heavy the air had become. Didn't realize he'd been holding his own breath when a sudden rush of air filled his lungs and pushed away the weight on his shoulders.

Her three maids were hovered around her bed. Their combined looks of shock and offense were not something he even remotely acknowledged.

She was laying there, on the bed, in her preferred spot on the right. Her hair was matted, painting the edges of her face with delicate blonde swirls. A thick layer of sweat pebbled her forehead, weighing down her lashes that then gradually batted open. Jareth felt the tension in his hand fluctuate, creating a tremor that jittered at his side. He watched her eyes open wider, focus on him, and then she gave him a weak smile.

"Jareth? What...what are you doing here…?"

She sounded tired. Jareth gulped before going to her side.

Her maids were smart enough to step well out of his way, raising their hands to their mouths in dumb gestures of shock by such audacity—

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry—" the madam called out to Aurelia from over Jareth's shoulder. He turned around to admonish her, but Aurelia responded first.

"It's alright," she said, and raised a gentle hand that lowered too slowly. "I don't mind if he's here."

Jareth's brow hardened. He was at her bedside now, and could tell the smell of decay was coming from her. The blood on her sheets had been there for hours, had dried and darkened; the smell must be coming from that. But...that wasn't right. That wasn't right, was it?

The leader of Aurelia's maids, Cade, dared lean in, frowning at her mistress with hands curling into anxious fists.

"But, Your Majesty, it's forbidden—"

Frustration compelled Jareth to glare over at her with a bite.

"Know your place," he snapped, rendering the woman back to the quiet mouse he preferred her as. With a nervous gulp, she bowed and turned away, ushering along her wary sisters to a different part of the room. At least Cade was quick enough to bring the nurses along with them, giving their mistress and her boorish husband a decent enough area of privacy.

Despite this good gesture, Jareth's stare lingered on them as if they might burst into flames. Their brows were all twisted, their steps scurried, their hands folding nervously. They congregated around the table, hushing their voices as they spoke of something that made them look even more worried.

"Really now, do you have to be so mean?"

Jareth blinked out of his daze and looked down at Aurelia, feeling a modicum of ease at the relaxed sound of her voice. He caught her eye, and she tried to smile at him. However, seeing the effort it took her laid bare on her face made him frown in response.

He pulled over the chair Cade had just been sitting in, and sat close to her side.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

An impulsive huff bounced her chest, turning her smile more genuine as a hint of laughter brightened her notably dull eyes. They seemed less blue, somehow. More grey and weathered. He ignored it.

"Why do you think something is wrong?" she asked, forcing a playful upturn into the words. She cocked a brow, pursed her lips, but any attention drawn to her features only made him more aware of the pit filling in his stomach. She was pale, her bright, tanned skin taking on a greyish glaze. It permeated her lips. Made them look waxy and wrinkled. And there was a shadow under her eyes. Beads of sweat balled large on her forehead before streaming down her temples. He took the cold cloth from the bucket on the nightstand beside him and brushed them away.

"Aurelia..."

"They're right, you know," she was quick to cut him off, carrying her usual cadence despite the way her eyelids fluttered shut in sheer relief from the touch of the cloth. "You really shouldn't be here. You know what such scents may do to you. They would have spoken to you elsewhere."

She inhaled and took a moment to relax, blinking slowly while watching him wring out the cloth. She spied on his profile just then, on his tightly furrowed brow and the muscle in his cheek that had since become noticeable, and couldn't help but smile.

"Are you that worried about me?" she asked. Jareth looked over, his tension conveyed as confusion over the affectionate way she was staring at him. She tilted her head a little on the pillow, as much as she could manage. "I'm flattered."

Jareth's scowl worsened.

"You're bleeding," he said, and wiped down her forehead again. "I can smell it."

Aurelia's eyes fell shut under his caress.

"Yes, well...such is birth."

"Why aren't they tending to you?"

Aurelia smirked. An impulsive little upturn at the corners.

"They are," she said, and shifted on the bed. "I'm merely...taking a break."

"A break?" Jareth repeated.

"Yes. It's been a long night. I'm just...a little tired."

She settled into the bed, as if he was merely tucking her in, with a weirdly peaceful look on her face. It unsettled him. He pulled his hand away and looked at her harshly.

"Do not lie to me," Jareth said.

With her eyes closed, Aurelia's smirk became a grin, spreading wider across her pallid face.

"I'm glad you came. I'm glad to see you."

"Aurelia—"

"Hmph," she cut him off, huffing in amusement it seemed. Her eyes opened halfway as she rolled her head towards him. "You're such a bully."

When her gaze found his, he regarded a haze clouding her eyes. She looked wayward. Half asleep. Half gone.

"Aurelia…" he repeated, much more calmly.

The way she tried to smile, he presumed, was meant to be reassuring. She could not maintain it, however. Instead, her lower lip quivered and rounded, the muscles in her face tensing in the effort not to break from the façade.

When she opened her mouth to speak, her jaw trembled. Her voice broke. She swallowed down her weakness and averted her eyes from him.

"It's...hard," she said. Tension built with the sound, and she licked her dry lips. She smiled even wider despite how high and faint her voice had become. "I didn't...think it would be so hard. It hurts. I'm tired. I just...want to rest for a bit."

Her breath quickened through her nose as a shudder moved over her shoulders. She wouldn't look at him. Her head, doing what it could to turn away, revealed a protruding artery as it pulsed in her neck.

Jareth set the cloth down and reached out to turn her back towards him

"You can rest when this is over," he said.

Aurelia's brow turned down. Her smile became easy. She knew he was trying to be sweet, but that was still a command.

"Do you promise?" she asked, facetiously. She waited for a response, but the way he looked at her became stony. Of course he was taking the matter seriously. But, did he not realize she needed to keep the mood light? "Don't make that face," she said, and reached up to touch his cheek. "Not here."

Jareth gulped. Her hand on his face was light. Like a feather. Like a ghost. It disturbed him. The hand holding her jaw released and withdrew back to his lap.

"You came to see me," she said, oblivious to his discomfort as she tried to touch him more tenderly. The tip of an index finger trailed down to his chin. "I'm happy. I'm happy because…I'm not sure..." and then her smile waned. "...how much longer I can do this."

Her touch left him and went back to the bed. She was blinking up at him slowly, giving him a look that was loving and longing and full of queer admiration.

Jareth drew back, his own emotions not at all attuned to hers.

"What?"

His tone held vehemence which she closed her eyes against. Reluctantly, she turned away and shook her head.

"I'm tired, Jareth. So tired..."

Her voice faded on a soft exhale, one that lowered her chest and had a feeling of panic flaring straight from the center of his own—

"Aurelia?" he called to her, impulsively reaching out and turning her face. Her brows knitted in the center in response, but that was all. His jaw clenched as he pushed the hair away from her face. "Wake up," he commanded. Her eyes opened arduously as he brought his face closer to hers. "What are you saying? You don't get to be unsure. It's not a choice."

Her head turned limply in his grasp, but she still managed to wet her lips before replying,

"I know...I know."

She fell back into a lax as he held her, as he stared searingly at the darkened lids of her eyes and the odd purple tint forming at the corner of her mouth. Her breathing became more shallow with each second that passed, taken by the vacuum of silence that was now inciting his heart to pound.

A jolt of fear he did not recognize compelled him closer to her. He held her head upright with both hands, urging her to open her eyes and look up at him.

"It's been too long. You've rested for too long. You need to try again."

He kept his voice level, or at least he tried. Perhaps it was the fear that she heard —a hint of upheaval that she was obliged to assuage.

A ghostly smile appeared on her dull, sullen face. If she had the energy, she would have apologized for upsetting him.

"I know," she repeated, and that was all.

The tension building in Jareth's hands threatened to crush her as an unnamed energy brightened his eyes. He was about to shake her. To scream. To do anything so long as she woke up—

"Your Majesty—"

Jareth blinked back to reality and turned, catching the gaze of the elder midwife standing at the foot of the bed. Something insistent underlined her greeting. He let go of Aurelia and joined the physician.

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry—"

"Why was I not summoned sooner?" Jareth asked, just barely retraining fury. But, upon hearing the tone of his own voice, he gritted his teeth to compose himself. "What are you even doing daring to stand idle while a queen is in labor?"

The midwife took a moment to consider her words, wary that they might become her last. She'd never been confronted in a birthing room before. No man —no king— had ever broken their sacred rules of conduct. And there was a reason for those rules. A reason why every other woman was huddled far away...

"Her Majesty's fever...has made her condition precarious," she started, speaking slowly. "We cannot discern the reason, but we have our suspicions...She asked us to wait, not to bother you unnecessarily. We've waited as long as we can for her to deliver naturally. But, now, I must request your consent—"

"Consent for what?"

"I'm...I'm afraid…" and she turned her eyes to the side. "We will have to cut it out." She paused to let him respond, unsurprised when he didn't. Mustering confidence, she dared look back at him. "She doesn't have the strength, and...if it's left inside much longer...we may lose them both."

Jareth stared in a manner that suggested he hadn't heard her. He blinked rapidly, his head cocking as a misplaced smile etched into his face.

"Come again?"

The woman cast a fleeting glance to the Queen, fighting off a frown.

"It is our only option. If she can withstand the procedure, she may yet live. But...it's her fever that is the true concern. We're also worried for the health of the babe—"

"Don't." A rigid hand raised to the space between them that Jareth had to consciously stop from turning into a fist. "Do not speak. I don't care about the child. Just do what you must and save her."

There was not an ounce of hesitation in that command, nor compassion or remorse. He spoke unblinkingly, deadlocked on her pitiful stare.

"Of course, Your Majesty…" she replied, then swallowed. "Perhaps...you might distract her? It will be...an uncomfortable procedure."

Her eyes shifted off of him and to Aurelia, provoking Jareth to do the same. She hadn't changed. If he didn't know better, he might think she was already dead. A knot twisted in his chest as that intrusive thought crossed his mind.

He went back to her side and clasped her hand. The midwives began preparing in the background, and he knew it would benefit them both to be distracted from it.

Seconds passed, and he struggled with what to say. She just looked so different. Not at all the woman who glittered in the sun. Even her hair seemed less vibrant, the curls losing their luster as they caught in wet knots.

He was surprised when her chest rose a bit higher and he heard the sound of a gulp.

"...I am not deaf, you know," she said, regaining some weak form of sentience as she half opened her eyes. "Nor blind for that matter. And my nose...is still as keen as yours." And then her eyes fell shut. "I know...what's happening."

"Shh. Don't be ridiculous," Jareth said, acting in a way that he had never done before as he tenderly pet and coddled her. "You're fine. You're going to be fine."

She smiled at the ceiling, revealing white teeth that did not match the rest of her face.

"Darling, I don't think I am."

Her repeated attempts at humor frustrated him and sent him reeling. He could see the midwives at work from the corner of his eye, and brought his face closer to hers to better ignore it.

"You will, because I will it," he said.

Aurelia laughed softly.

"So spoiled," she said, and managed to roll her head towards him. She saw the worry on his face. Saw her own self reflecting forebodingly in his eyes. "Hm...but that's what I love about you." She reached out to touch his face, and at the contact his gaze compulsively lowered. She wished...he would keep looking at her. "Will you forgive me?" she asked. "For being so foolish?"

A tick moved across Jareth's brow.

"No."

And now he looked petulant. Aurelia laughed again, weakly, a sound that incited him.

"Live and earn it," he demanded, pleaded, hoped, struggling to manage emotions he hadn't yet fully acknowledged as he turned her face up towards him.

Aurelia let him, staring with an empty, half-lidded gaze that brimmed with tears as she smiled.

"I would like to," she said, and bit back a sob. "I would like to very much."

Her smile was held in place by tightly pursed lips, the look breaking bit by bit as little hiccups bounced her shoulders. Jareth's hands readjusted, his thumbs stroking her temples. A whimper escaped her, and so did the tears.

"Aurelia—"

"I'm getting scared, Jareth," she said, jerking suddenly by some action of the midwives. "I didn't...I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't think it would hurt so bad. And the baby...I haven't felt it move in a long while, and—"

Tears poured from her eyes, sweat dropped onto her lashes, and she grimaced from the sting. Her chest heaved with panicked, strained breaths. Jareth leaned forward and clutched her close, doing what he could to settle her before she used up what little energy she had left.

"Shh...it's alright. It's alright. Quiet now. It will be done with soon."

He closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together, fighting back a surge of dread at how hot her skin felt against his. His hands splayed wide in her hair and held her head, engulfing and sparring her from the gruesome sight befalling her. The smell had become surging, sickening, moving like a wave all around them. She closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm of his breath. Despite it all, she soon calmed, and tried clasping his bicep in a manner that she thought was tight.

After a moment, she spoke again. Only now, her voice was hoarse.

"Everything feels so heavy. I...can't even move. And your face...your face is cold, Jareth." Jareth pulled away ever so slightly, and her teeth chattered as a sharp chill swept over her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't better—"

"Stop. Stop it. Please."

He grimaced and pressed his forehead harder to hers, shaking his head in denial of the smell that was soon to suffocate him.

"I shouldn't have been so stupid," Aurelia went on. "I shouldn't have been so cowardly. I—" She sobbed when he pulled back and kissed her forehead, ignoring the slick sheen that coated her skin. "I...I want it to live. I beg Alvra that it may still live."

No doubt, the smell had reached her too. And, no doubt, they were both clinging to denial. Jareth's hands tightened in her hair as he swallowed and clenched his jaw.

"You are more important. I want you to live."

"Will you promise me something?" She tried to smile and urge him away. He obliged and looked down into her eyes. "Don't be like me," she said, smiling through tears. "Don't wait. Don't hesitate or think twice. Don't be afraid to take your happiness." She had to pause to quell her quivering lip, her eyes looking heavy as her head lost the strength to hold itself up. "When you find it...do anything. Do everything. Do whatever you can, whatever you must. Be selfish. Be bold. Make it worth it, Jareth. And never, ever, let it go."

A crack in Jareth's composure showed as an uneven breath. He smiled despite himself and swallowed it back down.

"You're speaking nonsense," he said, lightly. "This fever must be getting to you."

She made an attempt to laugh, but it was only a huff.

"Undoubtedly." Her eyes lowered as she weakly stroked his arm. They were getting close to the end now. Her body was lighter. She could feel herself drifting. She needed to keep her eyes open for as long as she could. "But I mean it. As I've always meant it. I mean it more than anything. …So, do me this one thing. Promise me. Please promise...that you will be stronger than me."

He could feel her head bobbing in his grasp, struggling and failing to keep her faculty. His hands trembled as they readjusted and held her taut, and he stared at her as if seeing her for the very first time as he said,

"I promise."

He watched her pale before his very eyes. Watched that purple hue spread across her lips. Sweat painted her like porcelain, had become thick and sticky. The smell they breathed wretched his stomach, but that feeling paled in comparison to the acknowledgement they both made.

"You're a good man," she said on a fleeting breath. "You forget so often, but you are. Make sure others know it too—"

"More nonsense. Now you're just being dramatic," he replied, speaking slowly to avoid another crack in his voice. "There's no need for all this sentimentality."

She smiled with ease and let her weight rest in his hands. She was glad he'd finally chosen to humor her. Glad he allowed himself to smile, for her sake.

"No, I suppose not," she said. "Still, you have my thanks."

"For what?"

"For giving me...a chance. For giving me a life that was worth living —had I chosen to live it."

"You will."

"I won't," she retorted, her wayward grin climbing a little higher on one side. "—and you know it."

A heat building in Jareth's eyes had him blinking quickly. The midwives were gone, but to where or why, he could not spare a thought. All he could see was her face. All he could feel was a terror formed too quickly to be fathomed. A rock moved up into his throat as he tried to speak, as he gave into the screams of his pounding heart.

"Aurelia, I...I can't. You can't." He spoke on a sob and shook his head, his eyes turning livid against his own restraint. He stroked her face with his thumbs. Her skin was no longer so hot. "You cannot leave. I forbid it."

Tranquil tears trailed from the corner of her eyes, cresting on her cheeks and welling on the tips of his thumbs. She hated seeing him like this. Hated that she could do nothing to stop it.

"Now who's being dramatic?"

There was silence, a soothing quiet that made her weightless. Despite the way he was looking at her, the pain had gone. It was easier to smile.

"You will be fine, my darling. I know it," she said.

"How?" Jareth asked, passion flourishing the word with exasperation. "Because I don't. I don't know...how to do this. I can't do this."

Fear painted him a child. Made him sweet and pitiful in her eyes. If she could have kissed him then, she would have. She would have held him as tenderly as he was her.

"What silly things to say," she said, with a kind of calm that should not have been. "You can do anything, Jareth. That's why I married you. You will go on, and you will do so without me. As was always intended."

"Don't— don't speak like that."

"Why? This is the confine of our bed. This is my precedent. And that's fine. It's always been fine."

"No, it's not." He spoke tersely, cutting her short with impatience. "I don't want to go on. Not alone. I need you to be here. I...I love you."

He spoke that edict as if choking on it, his eyes flickering down and away and looking all out of sorts. Aurelia watched him with a look of both kindness and pity.

"You say that out of fear, so I will forgive you. But, please, don't start insulting me now." She tried to reach up to his face but couldn't manage, residing instead to tap him on the arm until she had his attention. He looked up reluctantly. "It's a heinous thing to lie to a woman on her deathbed."

Jareth's jaw tensed.

"I'm not."

Aurelia's head tilted ever so slightly, and she tried her best to look reassuring.

"It's okay," she said, as she had so many times before. "It's okay." She paused to let the words sink in, admiring the pale blue of his eyes while trying to ignore the fact that the image she had adored for the last decade was now blurring from her memory. "I know what you feel. But you don't...have to try anymore. I've never, ever, wanted you to try." She blinked slowly, hopelessly hoping that might somehow clear her vision. His visage was becoming vague, melding as one with the rest of the room. If he said something, she couldn't hear it. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. Would she be denied even this much in her final moments?

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more for you," she said, suddenly woeful. "I'm sorry I've caused so much trouble. I'm sorry...you have to suffer like this." She closed her eyes when he stroked the tears away from her face. At least she could still feel. At least she had this touch. She was grateful. "May I be selfish again? Will you make me one more promise?" Jareth's thumbs stopped moving, so she opened her eyes and pretended to look straight at him.

"Don't let him know," she said. Jareth was silent. "Don't...let him blame himself. He would be so disappointed…" Her voice faded abruptly, lost along with her breath. It was harder to breathe all of the sudden. But that was okay. It felt okay. The room was starting to dim. And his hands holding her up, they felt so warm. "It would break my heart…" she mumbled, unaware of whether or not the thought became words. "...to see either of you…" and then her eyes closed. "...in pain."

Jareth waited for her to go on, to take another sharp inhale and shift in his hands. He waited for her eyes to flitter in the attempt to open, to see the crease in her eye crinkle as she winced. He waited for her to respond to the things he'd said, the things she'd ignored. He waited the longest second, and then his hands turned rigid.

"Aurelia," he said, nudging her gently. There was no response. He nudged her a little more. "Aurelia," he repeated, louder.

Silence filled him. Swarmed the rock seated in his chest and dragged it down, down into the pit of denial which then overflowed. He felt a flare of heat move up through him in reaction and leaned forward suddenly—

"Aurelia, wake up," he said, his voice rising. "Open your eyes. Please. Damn it, open your eyes!"

He strangled a sob before it could escape, and lifted her higher. She was limp in his arms. He did what he could to keep himself composed.

"No. No, no, no. Not yet. You can't leave yet." He stared at her as he spoke, at the white skin of her lips and the dark beige circles over her eyes. Stagnant tears trickled from her lashes. His hands trembled as they curled into fists in her hair. "You are a coward," he said, bitterly. "—and a stupid woman, and...I still need you. Just wake up."

His teeth clenched to the point of pain. They could have cracked for all he knew, and still it could never compare to the utter agony threatening to burst his heart from his chest. He couldn't believe it. He was at a loss. She was fine that morning. She was perfectly fine.

The room smelled of metal and rotting things, twisting his stomach which was already tossed in knots. Aurelia remained silent. Remained still. Remained soft to the touch even as her skin cooled under his hands.

He closed his eyes tightly and swallowed it down. Swallowed down everything that might admit him the man she thought he was. His chest trembled with the effort, finding composure on one, long, shaky exhale.

Acknowledgement set in, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers. In the quiet, he focused, sifting through the smells of sweat and blood and bile for something that might remain of her. His cheek flexed when he found it —something sweet, and vibrant, and calming like the sun in spring. He thought of her that day in the garden. Amidst the mud and the buds and the smile she showed him. She'd been so good to him. So selfless. He'd never known a person like her. And it made him both joyous and despondent to think he never again would. She was better family than his own blood. A better friend than he ever thought possible. A better queen than his poor, miserable nation deserved.

He tilted forward and planted a soft kiss upon her lips, stroking her temples before pulling back and looking away. She settled into the bed all on her own when he released her. Her head tilted to the side. Her lips parted just barely. Her long brown lashes fanned in a look of repose.

He stood from the chair, but did not step away —his attention fixed yet vacant on her quiet form.

"Your Majesty?"

Jareth looked back. He'd forgotten they were there. But of course they were —each staring with a look his darker self would soon slaughter them for. The head physician was the one who'd spoken. She took a step forward, which was when he noticed the covered swaddle she was carrying in both hands.

"I'm sorry," she said, briefly lowering her eyes in shame. "The child...is stillborn." She gulped while taking another step towards him. "It is a boy. Would you...like to hold him?"

Jareth was silent. He did not move. Not knowing what to do, the midwife took the remaining steps forward and held out her arms. For a moment, he was confused. He didn't understand what she was giving him. He felt...out of body. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt like that before.

The action of him taking it in his arms was mechanical and not fully registered, and he observed it like an object. It was light. Soft. Mostly fabric, he could tell. After a moment, he looked down. A corner of the blanket was draped over its face. He wondered, fleetingly, what the point of that was.

A part of him wanted no part of this. A part of him knew better. Still, if nothing else, curiosity compelled him to pull the blanket back.

He wasn't sure what to feel —if he was meant to feel anything. Sadness, perhaps? Regret? Anger? He didn't know. He'd never thought himself a father. Never thought of his future in the kind of detail Aurelia had so often described. This thing was a part of him. Was supposed to make him smile. To help him find what she thought was missing.

Its skin was grey, darkened by a blue hue. Its lips, a tiny cupid's bow, looked painted in purple. The skin around its eyes was darker still, sooty, like it was dirty. It contrasted oddly against the sprinkle of fine blonde hair atop its head. It'd been dead for some time, several hours or more —that much he knew. Together, these details became a thing that was meant to be his son. And, as he regarded this and everything else, he felt such profound emptiness that he wondered if he was ever even meant to smile.

He re-covered its face and turned, gently placing it in its mother's arms where it belonged. Together they became serene. They became quaint. They became...that dream of hers that, now, would always be.

Another moment of silence passed, and then he was jolted clear out of his daze.

"The Queen is dead," Aurelia's maid, Aina said. Jareth twitched when the rest spoke in unison, "Long live the Queen."

Something...happened...at the sound of those words. They reverberated. In his ears. In his soul. Against the rock in the pit beneath the knot in his gut. In reaction, he felt something rise along with his chest as he inhaled, as his breath shook and all the things he did not know came to broil inside him to an infernal degree.

Anger he had never before experienced glazed the room in even more red when he turned around to face them. They all had such stupid looks on their faces —standing there like does— knowing full well the crime they'd committed.

Wait, she'd said. Waited, as long as they could. But no, no, they'd just been standing there. They'd waited on propriety. They let her die.

He relished the moment those looks of pity turned to freight as a spark ignited at his fingertips.

---

Davion stared at the door. It'd been some time. It'd been so quiet. Jareth did not come out, nor did anyone. He waited alone in the hall, pacing and nursing a fluttering palpitation. He couldn't shake the feeling. The feeling of tragedy. Maybe it was because it'd been so long. Maybe it was because the smell of dead blood had started creeping out from under the door.

He was surprised when Roldan entered the hall. He, too, looked nervous. Or maybe...just confused.

"What's going on?" Roldan asked, eyes glued to the door as he came to stand at Davion's side.

"I don't know," Davion replied. "Why are you here?"

Roldan turned and looked at Davion with a tight brow.

"Why are you? I needed Jareth. I was told he came here." Roldan turned and looked back at the door, his voice tapering with confusion and a trace of suspicion. No doubt, he could smell it too. "They really let him in?"

"No, but he went in anyway."

"Is something wrong?"

Roldan looked over and stared at Davion attentively. A few moments passed...and Davion said nothing. He did not have to. He only stared forward at the door with a look that Roldan now mirrored. Roldan turned starkly away, facing the door. Each man was silent, knowing they could do nothing but wait.

Several more minutes passed, and then their patience was rewarded with screams.

A sudden burst resounded from beyond the door. It was loud, spontaneous, but not nearly as startling as the violent screams that immediately followed. Roldan and Davion jolted to attention, but neither could properly react before a bright, blinding light shot through the creases of the doorway.

They felt a gust of heat, and then the door flew open.

Bodies fumbled, running for their lives as they toppled one another before falling into the hall. They were on fire. Engulfed by it. A blaze from within the room shone so brightly, they both had to cover their eyes and move back.

Wretched creatures flailed past them, reaching out with blackened limbs with wide splayed digits that crumbled into ash. The skin had split and bubbled and left their faces. Blood sizzled and filled the hall with noxious fumes that, for one split second, overcame the smell of death that followed them.

Davion and Roldan could only watch. Those who did not make it to the end of the hall fell to burning heaps on the floor. One of them was wearing a gown. One they both recognized. A grave sense of knowing flooded through Davion, and then Jareth exited the room.

He looked up, saw Roldan, and made a b-line straight for him.

Roldan gasped as Jareth suddenly appeared before him, wrapped a vicious hand around his neck, and hoisted him clear up the wall. Davion took a step back, feverishly darting his attention back at the open doorway.

"You," Jareth hissed, tightening his grip as he pulled back and shoved Roldan harder into the wall. "This is all your fault. You should be the one to die. If you weren't such a pathetic fucking waste, she would be—she wouldn't—"

Roldan stared at Jareth unblinking as confoundment morphed into realization, and suddenly the fact that he couldn't breathe meant nothing at all. Jareth regarded that asinine expression, growled, then grimaced in defeat as he turned his head sharply away and released him. Roldan staggered but regained his footing. He looked at Jareth in disbelief, but the look on his face…

It was like he hadn't heard a word Jareth said. Roldan turned towards the doorway, his eyes widening as panic set in.

"Aurelia?" he said, completely oblivious to what had just happened to him as he shoved past Jareth and ran straight into the room.

And then it was quiet again. Dead quiet. Davion...had never been so silent. He was petrified by shock and just stood there in the middle of the hall, eyes darting between Jareth, Roldan, and the doorway now stained black with scorch marks.

He thought maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he wasn't there at all. He certainly felt that way when Jareth walked straight by him and left. Davion turned his head and stared, watching as his brother staggered down the hall.

He made it a few yards before slumping against the wall. His shoulders hunched, and then he turned so his back was flat against it. Davion watched in a daze. Watched the King, who needed no one, fall to the floor. Watched the man, who had never cared for anything, claw his hands into his hair. Watched his brother, who had never before shown tears, curl forward until his head was held between his knees, and sob.

---

Jareth stared vacantly at the edge of the bed. Threads of silver and gold sparkled at him amidst the slate-grey of a densely woven duvet. Stitched filigree of a paler shade curled across his plane of view, emulating the fluidity of foam floating atop a winter sea. Like the tide of his thoughts, the image seemed to drift away from him to the point where he did not see anything at all. And that was fine. It was always fine…

He had no idea why he was there. No idea what he was doing. No idea why he'd sanctioned such fine material to be fitted for a bed that would never be touched...

Silence held him prisoner as he stared at it, at the fold of the blanket, and the pillow that -in some other lifetime- might have felt an impression.

The last time he saw this bed, it was covered in blood. The last time he sat in this chair, in this very spot, staring down in the exact same way, a woman had died in his arms. But...that was so many years ago now. That had nothing to do with this… Why had he come here?

If he focused, he might see her again. Might see the abstractions that his mind told him were her. As it was, he could barely recall her face. Could barely recall what this room once was. The linens had been changed, the walls were painted, and the windows were left open. The smell of death that he was certain would stain this place had long since faded, much like his memory of that day.

It'd just been so long. And the pictures...were all gone.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking. If he was thinking anything. The silence kept him stagnant. And that was...adequate.

He sensed her appear beside him but feigned not to notice. A long minute passed, and then he spoke.

"What do you want?"

He sat hunched, his forearms resting on his thighs while his hair draped over his profile. Liana tilted her head as she regarded him, taking her time before replying.

"Are you unwell?"

Jareth blinked slowly. She sounded suspiciously genuine. He stifled the exasperation out of an exhale, then gradually leaned up in his seat.

She was sitting in a chair directly beside him. It wasn't there a moment ago —not that it mattered.

"Do you actually care?" he countered. Liana's brows knitted in the center, but her eyes remained unblinking.

"I may."

Jareth slouched, now staring down at the bed skirt with the same empty gaze. He was still waxing poetic about the infinitude of the color grey, and so sounded thoroughly detached when he eventually replied,

"Great."

"You look upset," Liana said, then tilted her head. "I take it Sarah has finally told you, then?"

Jareth's eyes peered over reflexively, a look sharpened by his downward cast head. As slight as it was, she managed to hold that side eye with little effort. A tension formed on his brow, the cogs slowly turning.

"You're aware?" he asked, and then made a snide huff before shaking his head. "What am I saying, of course you are…" He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, suddenly aggravated by her very presence. "For how long?" he asked. Liana arched a brow.

"How long?" she repeated, sounding close to insulted. "Since the exact moment of conception, obviously. Would you like to know when that was?"

She spoke without inflection, but such words needed no tone to incite a distasteful tch from him. His upper lip curled a little as he straightened up and turned his head away.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he retorted.

Liana's lips formed a pout.

"It was not my place to."

Jareth's arms crossed as he fixed his attention to the bed once more. He felt the impulse to sneer but resisted. That grey was oddly assuaging. It helped keep him from grinding his teeth.

"You don't seem very happy," Liana continued. "Is it because you were the last to know?"

He glared over sharply from the corner of his eye again, but it seemed to be a look she was expecting. Her stare on him was invasive. Unwavering. He shifted in his seat.

Liana stared at him for a moment longer, then turned away and looked arbitrarily around the room.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, changing both topic and tone abruptly. It was lighter. Cheerful. Jareth remained silent. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? I'm surprised by the lack of dust." She turned her head over to him as if expecting a retort, though he only continued to glower. "This was her room… I suppose...it still is. You never bothered to admire the remodeling, did you? Does it look different from how you remember it?"

She spoke too casually for his liking, and he supposed that was the point: to antagonize him, provoke him. He couldn't help but peer around in reaction. It was true, much had changed from what he knew back then. The furniture was replaced. Everything from the tapestries on the walls, to the paintings, curtains, and useless bobbles decorating the desk to his right were all unknown to him. He would not dignify Liana with an answer, however. Vigorously scrub all the goblins may, a blind man could still see the residue of scorch marks forever ingrained into the stone floor.

"You didn't answer my question," Jareth said, growing terse. Liana folded her hands in her lap.

"And neither have you answered any of mine."

Jareth turned and looked at her, their expressions a perfect contrast under the illumination of a few dim sconces.

"What do you want?" he repeated. Liana's eyes flickered down and up, and she looked quite frank as she said,

"To check on you."

Jareth clicked his teeth and looked away, smiling despite himself.

"Really? Why?"

Something more serious ghosted over Liana's candid stare while he wasn't looking.

"I told you, I may care."

He paused at the drop in her tone, seeming to acknowledge it by the shift in his countenance. He was still looking away, but the stiffness of his posture faded. She wondered….if he even realized it.

"Why did you come here, Jareth?" she asked once more. "Has this latest development made you...nostalgic?"

A sly upturn at the end of that word succeeded in rooting itself in his ear. He felt his jaw tense in response. She really was trying to provoke him—

"It's understandable, if so," Liana went on. "I imagine it came as quite a shock to you."

"Do not patronize me," Jareth snapped. One corner of Liana's mouth twitched.

"Am I wrong?"

Against her expectation, calling his bluff amounted to nothing. He did not snap back, or say anything at all. He merely continued to stare, intensely, at nothing.

"I remember that day," Liana went on. "It was very sad."

"Very sad?" Jareth repeated, and turned his head to glare at her. "What do you know? You were nowhere to be found."

The look she regarded on his face was bitter, and she believed it. She almost frowned. Almost.

"I was listening," she said. "As I always listen."

Jareth shook his head and looked away.

"You would be better to have been gone. She prayed to you, and you ignored it."

"I did not ignore her," Liana said, sitting straighter when he gradually peered over again. "I refused."

A spark of attention perked up Jareth's posture. He turned and regarded her fully.

"What?"

"What obligation did I have to save that woman?" Liana cut him short. He looked on the verge of anger or a lecture. She held her head confidently in defense of it. "I concede...it was a darker day. A time in my existence that I am not so proud of. I was newly released and under no man's constraints. Every decision was truly mine. You were plotting various ways to trap me, so I decided...not to help you."

"I was not the one who needed help," he stated.

"That woman made her own choices; it was not my responsibility to bend the natural order merely to absolve her of their consequences."

She expected a push back, something nasty and condescending. She was a little surprised, then, when he said nothing. She stared at him. He was looking stern and straight ahead. A moment passed, and her expression softened a notch when she asked,

"Do you resent me?"

Jareth blinked slowly at the wall across from him. There was nothing on it, but a vision of a long dresser and standing armoire moved hauntingly behind his eyes. He realized then that the layout of this room was nearly identical to Sarah's. If he was with her, he'd be staring into her vanity mirror…

Did he resent Liana? he asked himself.

"More than one minute before? What would that accomplish?"

Defeat was masked by indifference in his voice. Liana used that unsuspecting moment to burrow her way a little deeper.

"Nothing," she said with a shrug. "Still, I would understand." Familiar silence followed. It stretched to a point that might have been awkward —had Jareth cared enough to acknowledge it.

"Do you miss her?" Liana asked.

Silence.

"I admit, I didn't realize how much you cared for her until the end."

Musing took over as she spoke to herself, taking her back to the day in question. Truthfully, she had underestimated that woman's value. Her hope in Jareth at that time was all but gone, so she never bothered seeing her as a means. It was only in her death that she saw the spark of promise return in him. Only then that she decided to try again. So, maybe it was better that she died that day. Maybe...that was why Liana let her.

"You realized nothing," Jareth said. Liana looked over to catch a sharp side eye. "—because it was none of your business."

"Ah, but you offered me your heart to search. Remember?"

And search she did, and was, even now. She sensed Jareth stiffen as he made this realization for himself, as her brazen stare on him came to make unnerving sense.

"Do you regret her death?" Liana asked. The way her head tilted at him was taunting. Like she was observing. Like he did need to answer her at all. After a moment when he did not speak, she turned away and prattled on. "It's an interesting thing to ponder. If she had lived, she might be your wife to this day. You might have found happiness. One that was good enough. Your life may have been very different. So different, you may not have found Sarah…" and she peered over at him slyly. "Or maybe you would have. Good enough is never good enough for you, is it? It was difficult enough manipulating her under the current circumstances, but how do you think she would have responded to all this if you already had a wife? She has a possessive heart, I will tell you that, and my years have shown me that jealously is a powerful thing. Maybe it was better that she did die…"

Her voice faded, but that final thought seemed to linger. Jareth stared down at the tassel trim on the pillow closest to him, and then he scowled.

"You're goading me," he said. Liana nodded.

"I am."

A moment passed. And then two…

"Well?" she asked.

Jareth looked away from the pillow. That grey now reminded him of her face.

"I regret that she died…because she did not deserve it," he said, refusing to look at her. "It has nothing to do with Sarah."

Liana hummed in response, her eyes darting all around him, testing, searching. She was a little surprised to find that he meant that. That his heart was...settled over it.

"You've known from the beginning," Jareth mumbled. Liana came out of her focus. "She has been through...much. ...is it healthy?"

He winced as he asked that. Like he was ashamed. Like he had no right to know. Liana's tethers within him felt a twinge. It did not match his feelings for Aurelia, her child, or the past. No. These feelings were only for Sarah.

"It? Or her?" Liana countered. The emphasis she placed was baiting. He looked over and locked eyes with her because of it. He would not answer her question. Couldn't. He honestly...didn't know the answer himself. Sensing contention, Liana took the lead. "It is healthy," she said without blinking. "I've made sure of it."

The expression on Jareth's face when he looked away was difficult to interpret. One might say he looked displeased by this answer. While another…

His brow furrowed tightly together as a sudden thought struck.

"The herdsman…" he muttered, then turned to look at her again. "—That's what you were doing. The bloom on your altar? You weren't shielding her. You were shielding it."

A smug kind of grin formed on Liana's face.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Liana blinked, caught off guard by the hint of accusation in his eyes.

"What? What do you mean, why?"

Her confusion seemed sincere, but it wasn't enough for him. He became more attentive as he drew back from her.

"You've been plotting," he said, his tone lowering with suspicion. "This whole time, you've been making moves that make no sense. You let Sarah win. You said you've never been held by a woman. Is this your plan, then?"

Liana sat perfectly poised as his regard of her turned more distasteful, then she arched a brow.

"My plan? I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more explicit in that accusation, My Liege."

"You are seeded inside a vessel that has not claimed you. A vessel that now carries a second, without a will of its own, within. Their bodies are one. They are of the same blood—"

Having a clear idea of where this was going, Liana laughed facetiously and waved him off.

"Oh my, Jareth. Listen to you. Do you think I intend to possess Sarah's fetus and assume it as myself?"

She was mocking him, but it didn't matter. Jareth's expression only hardened as he scrutinized her.

"It would be the perfect union, would it not? To be reborn in flesh? Would you not find harmony with my species at long last and be truly free?"

Liana paused. Her mouth opened in a half grin, but she didn't speak. She turned her body to face him more directly, then flickered her eyes down as she spoke.

"Jareth...I know you have a lot on your mind," and she looked up at him again. "—but might I recommend you think before speaking?" His stare on her was unyielding. Liana sighed. "True….I suppose I could try to transition myself from her to it at the exact moment of birth and take over as the dominant consciousness. It would certainly be an interesting experiment. I have been taken in many colorful ways over the years, so I suppose it may be possible —such is the nature of new magic. Still, there would be no point."

She crossed her legs and shifted into a more comfortable position. Jareth eyed each and every mannerism like a hawk. She was just too candid.

"Perfect harmony or not," Liana continued. "—it would still be an infant. An infant without the capacity to hold, nor the ability to control, magic —let alone the degree of which I am. A human has better odds; so, no, being reborn into such a vessel would be far from perfect. I fear I, it, we, would die together before ever uttering our first word." She glanced upward in thought and wove around a hand as she spoke, sighing once more before going on. "And besides, if you haven't yet noticed," and she gestured at herself. "I already have a physical body. It was given to me for that very purpose, and, well...you can see how effective that's turned out." She gave him a smirk at the end that he did not reciprocate before turning away in apparent dismissal. "You may rest easy, My Liege. You and your child have nothing to fear from me."

The upturn at the end of that sentence implied the conversation had ended on a good note. Both of these assumptions were wrong, of course. Jareth continued to analyze her. To stare intently with a countenance that just kept hardening.

"Nothing to fear...because you're on my side, right?" He asked that with some sort of provocation. Liana peered over just as he narrowed his eyes on her. "But, no, you're not that magnanimous, are you?"

She watched him straighten his posture and look her dead in the eye before continuing.

"I suppose it makes more sense now: why you suddenly decided to help me prolong her awakening."

She wasn't sure if he meant that as a question. Regardless, she was magnanimous enough to spell it out for him.

"Yes," she replied, dryly. "I told you, these are precarious circumstances. It would be better for her to concede her hold to you now."

Jareth huffed impulsively.

"Despite all that trouble, you would see me as your master after all?" he asked with slight derision. Liana's conviction remained unchanged.

"I would see her safe," she affirmed. "That is my only concern."

The half smile beginning to form on Jareth's face lost its luster before fading to nothing. Liana was dead serious in saying that. For once...he was inclined to believe her.

"Is she in danger?" he asked.

Liana glanced away, going so far as to cross her arms as she took in their surroundings.

"Has she not been this entire time?" she replied, shrugging. "I have been...deliberating. She is strong and doing well, yes; but...she is still just a human. And, once my energy is unwound, I fear...it may be too much for an unborn child. There was always the chance of her losing her life —even under the best conditions— but her physical strength is now compromised, and soon hormones will compromise her emotional strength as well. If Sarah awakens and cannot handle the stress of it, I will not be able to protect either of them from myself." She paused for effect and looked over at him. He stared attentively. Liana's look turned down in sympathy. "I also fear...the burden of labor may even be enough to trigger an awakening."

Jareth's brow furrowed tightly tighter.

"What?"

"If something goes wrong—" Liana cut him off. "...I cannot turn a blind eye. As I warned you with the herdsman, I will be compelled to infuse my life force with her own and save her. Only, the irony is...the act of saving her may then become the very thing that kills her."

The room fell silent as that truth hung heavy in the air. Jareth felt his fists tightening as they rested in his lap. Felt himself wondering with exasperation if there was any outcome to this that wouldn't risk her death—

"I was not made to operate within these bounds, Jareth," Liana spoke, seeming to echo the dread he felt brimming in his stomach. "This has never happened before, and all the contradictions are convoluting my magic. The truth is, I have no idea what could happen."

She stared straight ahead with distant eyes, perhaps imagining the very same things as Jareth. Presently, her tethers within him felt lax. Unhindered. He'd let down his guard now, and was feeling...lost.

Jareth closed his eyes, blinking very slowly to the pace of a long exhale.

"Then what do I do?" he asked.

"You do your best to keep her dormant," she said. "You keep her healthy. You keep her happy and not too curious. And, of course, you continue preparing her for the worst."

She looked over at him at the end, driving the notion home. Stiffness returned to Jareth's posture. She was alluding to lessons. To the not so theoretical insight on magic he'd been providing for Sarah. He knew deep down that Liana was right. She was taking to it surprisingly well. He only hoped it would be enough. Hoped she would be able to convert theory to practice quickly if and when needed.

In recent days, a small part of him had been toying with the idea of easing her into the realization. Of swallowing the very last drops of his pride and ambition, and bless her as the Labyrinth's proper master. He'd guide her, and together the three of them could fumble about as unstable magic gradually undid the world around them. Perhaps he'd even come clean about his deceit. Maybe he'd risk undoing all of the strides made for the sake of sincerity. At least then they would die together honestly.

And no, these were not dramatic thoughts. Such were the literal stakes of the game he'd created. And it was...simple. Suddenly, balancing the end of the world, attaining perfect harmony, redeeming his bloodline, and a life either estranged from or enveloped by the cross-dimensional girl-child he loved seemed a simple matter. Simple. Somehow, all of that made more sense to him than the two words I'm pregnant. Somehow, all of that paled and fled in comparison to a future and a thing that was no longer theoretical, that they had created.

It made no sense. He didn't want this. Didn't want this fear and this worry and the contention of whether or not to bother feeling anything else. He was frightened to care. Frightened to want. To admit he might actually be happy. To acknowledge the slight, pin prick of hope that, despite the odds and all of that, that somehow it would still be alright. That he could breathe. That he could still have her. Have them both. Have them all. And maybe, finally...smile?

Frustration got the better of him much too suddenly, breaking through his speeding thoughts as another ghost from the past reminded him of where he was. He was angry that he'd thought of her. Angry that he couldn't seem to push the memory away. Why was that? Why was he here? Why was he thinking of her now, and why was he so, so confused?

Aurelia had wished to see the moment he smiled from the bottom of his heart. He hadn't understood her back then. Didn't know that there could be different smiles from different places. So maybe it was guilt that led him back here...guilt because now he did understand. Because, since that day, he had smiled. He'd smiled often. He'd smiled wholeheartedly. And guilt because...beneath such worry, and fear, and all of that, there was a part of him that clung to those two little, earth shattering words. A part of him...that wanted to smile.

A vision of Sarah's twisted face and brokenhearted scream snapped him back to reality, and his expression turned completely vacant as the final moments of their argument replayed themselves as echoes through his thoughts. Of course. This was stupid. It didn't matter if he had feelings. It didn't matter what he might want. All that mattered was that yet another milestone had been corrupted and taken from them. That every moment when they should smile, they instead cried. That she was still afraid of him. Still blaming him. Still frightened, and worried, and resentful just like he—

"She shouldn't even be in this situation," he heard himself saying, an effort to distract himself. Liana quirked an inquisitive brow. "The contraceptive I gave her was potent—"

"Indeed. It was."

Her neutral tone cut him dead. He could feel her staring at him, no doubt having wicked fun with all the frustrated emotions within him that he couldn't quite quell. Needing to deflect, he set his focus back on her.

"She accused me of giving her a fake," he said, flatly. Liana's reaction was naught. Jareth stared at her intently, and then a light clicked. "...did you tamper with it?"

Liana was silent. Her eyes, with hauteur, lowered over him and then rose back up again. She seemed to be sitting taller, too. In fact, she looked perfectly guarded when she eventually replied,

"Tamper...is not the right word."

"Then what is?"

"I'm surprised, Jareth. You've spent your life trying to know me, and, I dare say, you know more than most. Did you really think such a thing would have any effect on my vessel?"

If he was at all surprised, it failed to reach him. All he could do was stare in a look of puzzlement.

"Explain yourself."

Liana huffed.

"Have you forgotten what I am?" she asked with derision. "I am Alvra. I am Incarnate. I am the natural order, and you would show such hubris as to infuse my vessel with agents that seek to control the essence of me?" She spoke at him with an arched brow, then made something close to a snort in response to the guarded kind of scowl on his face. "You tried to render the host of Nature infertile, Jareth. My, I cannot imagine a greater sacrilege."

"So you negated it?" Jareth asked, then scowled harder. "If you knew the danger a pregnancy would put her in, why would you—"

"I did not negate it," Liana firmly interrupted. Jareth shut his mouth. "Consider it...an immunity. I am what I am, and I had no choice in the matter. Be it by cosmic will, that thing ceased having any effect before the cup could even touch her lips."

Jareth frowned in disconcertion.

"Then why didn't you warn me? Why did you just let it happen?"

"Why, why, why," Liana retorted, rolling her eyes mockingly. "What a spoiled child you are. Lest we forget, this is all your doing. I've already given you enough means to resolve the situation. If you lack the confidence to do so, that is hardly my responsibility."

She sounded cocky, but she looked petulant. Jareth narrowed his eyes.

"Your pride may kill her, yet you condescend me?"

Oh, he sounded offended. Liana's fingers twitched on her crossed arms, then she looked over at him again.

"You say that as if it actually matters," she said, snidely, then gave him a good once over. "I'm curious, you keep finding ways to be angry with me, but what are your true feelings on all this? Certainly, you're merely being aversive."

"Excuse me?"

"Please," Liana said, waving off the ignorance that carried that question. "Were you not dreadfully upset when she first asked for such things? Did you not have to fight yourself to say yes? Did you not feel the same sting of blaspheme as I did?"

He wanted to refute her but knew he'd only be proving her point. She was right. It'd taken a monumental level of humility for him to succumb to her request, and even more to ignore the fact with each day that passed. She'd had enough tact not to drink that infernal tea in front of him, at least, but the thorn in his pride was always there—

"Do not attempt to take the high ground here," Liana said (probably reading his very thoughts at that point, he supposed). "I know you, Jareth. And I know you understand very well the depths of my pride."

Not one to be shaken so easily, Jareth shook his head and doubled down.

"You keep saying your only concern is for her safety, yet you repeatedly commit acts that endanger her. If you had simply told me it would be ineffective—"

"And what if I had told you?" she cut him off. "Would you have actually heeded my warning and found some alternative way of preventing conception? Or, is it more likely that you would have disregarded me completely because the chance is often so rare and you were so self-assured that you would have long since tricked her into submission by now? That you would have let her have her placebo simply to keep her placated while you, once again, sabotaged yourself? Isn't it just as likely that we would find ourselves in this exact spot regardless of how I coddle you?"

He remained silent against her scolding, stewing over the acknowledgement that she was still right. There was no way he would have believed her back then. And, even if he did, his arrogance would have still held the stronger sway.

Still, it was unheard of to proliferate so quickly. For a fae? It was damn near miraculous. He never in a million years would have believed such a thing, for him, was possible. He'd written it off entirely. He hadn't even considered...

Jareth huffed as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"You're right. It is rare," he said, then lowered his hand to his lap. "Even between human and fae, this is too well timed. You say the drug was out of your control, but am I to trust that this wasn't somehow your doing? Another one of your manipulations?"

He was caught off guard when her expression suddenly lifted with delight.

"Now you think I made Sarah pregnant on purpose?" she asked, her face creasing on the verge of laughter. "You are just full of conspiracy tonight, aren't you?" There was a playful bounce in her voice. Her mouth formed an amused grin as she glanced away. "Ah, I suppose I'll continue to entertain it. After all, it's much easier to blame others than accept the fault as your own." She glanced out her peripheral the exact moment he shot her a glare, anticipating the look. He said nothing. She forced the grin away from her face. "Alas, I did not contrive this tragedy —if you should so view it. I am merely Nature, when it seems this was the work of Fate. T'is a far different thing."

He couldn't tell if she was being facetious, and vaguely (and dubiously) wondered if now Fate was also a sentient force bred to work against him. Were they really so small? So helpless and spoiled and ignorant? He'd spent so long orchestrating the world around him that, as he sat here now, just one teeny, tiny, little spec of fate was enough to send it all spiraling out of control. So maybe Liana was right. Maybe he was looking for a devil in the details. Something to explain it to him, something that he could resent—

"I sense bitterness," Liana said, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked up. "Are you perhaps hoping she might miscarry and resolve the matter for you?"

Jareth drew back, blinking like he'd been caught off guard. Liana did not believe it, however, and merely stared plainly at him. His eyes darted away, like he was thinking about her question. Like he was ashamed of it.

"You never wanted children, right?" Liana went on, probing his feelings while his guard was down. "You don't know how to be what had never been, yes? You're afraid you'll make another creature like you." She paused as a flux had her eyes twitching. Her head cocked a notch, and then she continued. "But...no. No, your fears are more selfish than that. What you fear is that you'll become a creature like him."

That final comment hit the nail on the head, if the sudden tick in his brow was any indication. Liana pursed her lips in a look of sympathy.

"Have you figured out why you came here yet?" she asked. Jareth closed his eyes as he tried to think. There was too much going on all of the sudden. Too many conspiracies and ghosts and wretched hands of fate. He just wanted to be alone again. To be in the quiet. He clawed a hand into his scalp and scowled. He wanted to see her. He wanted her to smile—

"Will you go to her?"

Jareth looked over impulsively. Had she known he was thinking of Sarah just now? By the canny in her stare, surely she must have. Deep down, he was alarmed by how effortlessly she could pick him apart, see within the muddled depths that he, himself, was unable to wade through. He missed his cue to respond. Liana's expression softened.

"She's waiting, you know."

Shame compelled him to look away. He hated how helpless that made him feel.

"She told me to leave," he said, his voice lowered. "I'm inclined to believe she meant it."

A guise of self-pity unaccustomed to him made those words seem to wallow, echoing his stare as it fixed then fell vacant back on the bed. Liana lowered her eyes for a moment, feeling a little sorry that he just couldn't seem to figure it out.

*Sigh* best to help him along...

"She didn't."

Jareth paused his glowering and looked over. Liana was already watching him, giving him a look that resembled affection.

"Go to her, Jareth," she said, then glanced around the room. "Bitterness is bitterness. There's nothing more this room can give you."

Jareth turned away, remaining silent as he contemplated.

"The last time I sat here…" he started, pausing briefly as a scowl formed. "...was when Aurelia died in my arms."

There was no tone discernable in those words. It echoed the void she felt hovering within him.

"Yes," she responded.

His scowl twitched, reflected by a fist clenching over his lap.

"I...wanted her to live."

"And the child?"

Jareth's eyes closed, a gesture both reflexive and discomforted.

"I didn't care about the child," he said. Liana tilted her head.

"And now?"

Another tense moment.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Do you care?"

Those words were light on her tongue but felt heavy on his shoulders. His jaw was starting to tighten —something of an ache building in his chest.

"I do," he replied.

"And what do you want?"

He thought over that question more carefully. Thought of the room and the bygones and the things lost there. He thought over his wife, her wishes and her dreams, and he thought over the fact that he had fulfilled none.

His teeth clenched in a sign of frustration. Of impatience. Of conviction towards a kind of selfishness he'd been too afraid to pursue.

Liana grinned as she felt the realization being made. Felt the void fill and uplift those hunched shoulders of his. In the next moment, she was staring at nothing but an empty chair. He did not answer her question. She did not expect him to.

A moment of silence passed, and then a deep thump pulsed in her chest. She pressed the pads of her fingers to it and looked down. The pulse was insistent. She smiled and settled it down with a shush.

"Patience, my love," she said, stroking affectionate circles over her sternum. "They're almost there."

---

Sarah stared at the fire with her knees pulled up to her chest, hugging them as she slumped at a diagonal against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet. The castle was always quiet at night. Loud pops from the fire helped keep her attentive. It was difficult not to lose her thoughts to the guile of the shadows around her.

She was frowning. Her brow was tight. Her lips, pursed. She clung to herself in the hope that it might somehow console her.

Her heart had hardly settled. For hours now, she felt teetered on the edge. Anxiety, sorrow, and frustration brimmed to her toes which compulsively curled and uncurled as she focused, so pitifully, on the light of the fire.

That was bad. Everything about that fight was bad. A part of her could hardly believe the way she'd acted. Jareth was right. She wasn't thinking. She was just so angry that it'd completely taken over. Could she blame this on hormones? Was that even fair? All she'd wanted was to help Delphine— but, no. No, that wasn't quite the truth, was it? She wasn't thinking about Delphine or the consequences at all. She just wanted to attack Braxton. Jareth was right about that too…

Shame had her worrying over the diplomatic ramifications that awaited her, them, the kingdom, the thousands of civilians that might have to pay for her emotional outburst, but to no avail.

So, this was what Roldan was always so worried about —why he thought she wasn't ready for that kind of interaction yet. She supposed...she owed him an apology too.

Before she knew it, hours had passed. The day was over. Jareth had done as she'd ordered and left. And that was…

She closed her eyes in order to keep it together. Stop it. Get a grip. She'd shed enough pity tears back in her bedroom; now she was supposed to be feeling hollow. Detached. Spent.

The level of stress that had built as she stewed alone in her room had compelled her to leave it. She had no idea where to go. She just...needed air, or direction, or something that didn't make her feel like the walls were closing in. She thought about knocking on Marie's door, but she didn't. She didn't want to pull her in when it was a matter she wasn't even supposed to know anything about. Would Jareth be mad if he found out Mariella knew before him? She really just...had no freaking clue.

She just needed some time to think. To calm down. She had too much pride to let Mariella see her like that anyway. …or so she told herself.

Eventually, she found her way to the library. It was communal. Neutral ground. Someplace large enough not to feel suffocating, and didn't have too many poignant reminders of all the bullshit she still needed to sort through.

What even was his reaction? What was that look? She had no idea. She really had no idea, and it seemed like growing paranoia was making all of her fears come true. Somehow she'd known. Despite the argument, she'd known in her gut that he wouldn't be happy.

But how long would he stay gone?

Her loneliness angered her. After all the things they'd been through and his place in all of it, how dare he have the gall to look so miserable. To leave her there. Alone. And yes, she'd told him to leave, but since when did he ever listen? Didn't he know that was not a situation one just walks away from?

The fact that he'd chosen then of all times to show what was, in actuality, just a common level of decency worried her. Upset her. How twisted was that?

But the truth was, she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to be alone. This was too important a moment. She wanted him to push his way in. To hold her even when she shoved him away. To kiss the top of her head when she finally gave in and cried…

A feeling of nausea had been steadily churning in her stomach all night. It wasn't enough to actually make her sick. Oh no, that would be too easy. No, instead she had a knotted up feeling just strong enough to let her know that she was practically simmering with anxiety.

A log in the fire popped loudly and shot a spark in her direction. It failed to reach her, but her toes curled inwardly on reflex. The snap back to attention made her wonder just how long she should loiter there. Why the fuck she was loitering in the first place.

She should just go back to her room. Try to get some sleep. Thinking herself to death would accomplish nothing. Sitting there, alone in her pajamas huddled like a child, was pathetic. Pitiful. Stupid—

Her lower lip rolled over her teeth and her fingers tightened around her calves when she sensed him appear. She didn't look. She didn't have to. All she needed was the relief that came with her next exhale.

That relief was fleeting, however. Now she entered a whole new kind of worry.

She licked her lips but failed to speak for a long while. She was scared. He was just sitting there. A glance from her peripheral showed her he was leaning forward, staring out at the fire with his hands draped over his knees. He seemed cold. Like a statue. He wasn't speaking either, and the insecurity it spurred in her was relentless. She just had no idea...what to say.

"Are you alright?"

She heard Jareth speak but had been anticipating something completely different. Despite the softness of his tone, her head whipped sharply towards him.

"What?"

That response was instinctive and rooted in confoundment. Jareth lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes locking on hers far too directly.

"You've been crying."

Sarah felt her jaw clench. He was staring her dead in the eye, but she couldn't gauge him. Her brow turned down in worry —the only reply she could manage.

Jareth, seeing the proof of his own failings painted so clearly by the glimmer in her eyes, frowned.

"Do you want me to leave?"

His eyes lowered as he said that. Sarah swallowed down the rock in her throat.

"No," she said, then bit the inside of her lip as she glanced away, squeezing her legs tighter. "It's fine."

Silence resumed. Neither one spoke, nor seemed to have any intention of doing so. The muscle in Jareth's jaw flexed as he struggled with how to continue.

"How long have you known?" he asked.

He saw one of her hands draw into a fist. She took a minute to compose herself before responding.

"About a week. The Mavra told me...when you sent her to check on me that morning."

He was facing her, but still staring down at the space between them. Sarah watched him anxiously from the corner of her eye.

"I see…" he mumbled. Sarah's head turned towards him and she released the hold on her legs unconsciously. After a moment, he looked up and caught her eye. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sarah stiffened, but knew that was not the proper reaction. His tone was still soft. Gentle. The complete opposite of when they'd last spoken. She lowered her feet to the floor while placing fisted hands lightly to the couch cushion.

"I...was waiting for the right time. We were traveling, and busy with the barrier and the reception…"

Her eyes slanted to the side as if caught in a lie, though he knew better than to question it. The answer she might give him...was not something he wanted to hear. His eyes started to lower from her again.

"Could you really...not tell?" she asked.

Jareth blinked slowly. Her voice was light and hushed. If he looked up, he expected to find the muscles in her face looking even tighter. He inhaled through his nose, then frowned deeper.

"No," he said, then gradually opened his eyes. "But I can now."

He sensed a flare go through her. Embarrassment maybe. It weakened her defenses even more, letting loose a thicker haze of a scent that he was already trying to ignore. It was hard to fathom...how familiar it all was. How poignant...and sweet.

"Oh," she said. Jareth glanced up awkwardly.

"It's because you're upset," he replied, then peered quickly away. "Now that you've let those particular pheromones loose...it will be much harder to pull back. It's actually...expected for women not to restrain themselves while carrying. It's better for their health."

He looked anywhere but at her while explaining, which was something that made her want to scream. Potential energy felt like a torrent within, but she was too afraid to act on it.

"I see..." she said, glancing away with a half smile which she showed to the fire. "Keeping it all back really stressed me out, so…it makes sense."

He watched her when she wasn't looking. Watched her profile as it was illuminated by the golden light of fire. There was a smile on her face. A sad one.

"It wasn't fake," he said on impulse. The look he'd been admiring fell away and turned into a furrowed brow as she turned to face him. He held her stare despite the look of skepticism she gave him.

He saw her jaw clench, but had no idea what it meant. He could feel his own hand fighting the urge to fist.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She closed it, then tried again.

"Then how…?"

"I...don't know."

A detestable feeling twisted deep inside as he said that. As he forced himself to lie and, once again, assure himself that it was for the greater good. He couldn't stand the look on her face. He couldn't stand the forces keeping them in place nor the distance cast between them.

Sarah's expression expectedly worsened, then she turned away to conceal it.

"We'd done it a couple of times before I started taking it. …I guess it must have happened then."

There was a drop in her voice that he interpreted as sullen. It fell with her attention to the floor. She pulled her knees back up to her chest and hugged them once more, pressing her mouth firmly into them as troubled thoughts flared as openly as the flames that reflected on her eyes.

"I didn't know about Delphine," he heard himself say, the words seemingly compelled. His hand inched forward, but stopped almost immediately and withdrew in frustration. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, but...

Alas, she was just too far away.

"If I did," he continued on. "I would have prepared you."

"Prepared me?" she asked, snidely with a little huff. "How generous. Still. I find it hard to believe."

"I have not seen either of them in over a year, since before she was even pregnant," Jareth said, the need to defend himself showing as a slight rise in his voice. "It wasn't...so severe back then."

A tick shot across Sarah's brow. She loosened the hold on her legs and sat straighter, turning to look at him with widened eyes edged with judgement. Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say.

"Not severe?" she asked, then one of her eyebrows quirked. "Maybe not severe, but it was still something, right?"

She stared at him expectantly without an ounce of sympathy or sway. He was unsure of how to respond, so held that stare of hers with one just as hardened. After a moment, however, he realized defending himself (let alone Braxton) was pointless.

"Yes," he said, plainly.

Sarah's eyes narrowed but not from anger. No, the look she gave him now was full of hurt.

"...just like it was something when you first brought me here," she said.

Jareth tensed. She was right. He agreed with her. Did he really agree with her? He'd felt it in Yore. Felt the guilt and blame and resentment directed at Braxton which he knew was meant for himself. The realization upset him, because telling her such would be equally pointless. He knew he'd treated her poorly, just as he knew Delphine was poorly treated. But...they were not like Braxton and Delphine. It was different now. He wanted it to be different. Did that count for nothing?

She sounded as frustrated as he felt when she said,

"It shouldn't be like this, Jareth. I just want you to understand why I say that—"

"I do."

He cut her off with a tone clipped by impatience. Sarah regarded him sternly when he looked her in the eye again.

"Do you?"

There was a pause. Sarah thought it meant something, but she couldn't tell what. She was resolved to wait for an answer, and so watched as something embittered and desperate shifted the look in his eye. It became more intense and more intense. The effort to hold whatever that feeling or thought was back kept his jaw tight when he replied,

"Yes."

Sarah was still. There was something...striking...about him. It wasn't the word, or its simple meaning, but rather the absolute imperativeness he'd spoken it with. She'd expected a debate, a rebuttal, a defense, but the look on his face was pleading. The way his body was leaning towards her was pleading. He did not want her to believe him. He needed her to. She felt that dialogue pass between their locked eyes, eyes that were both livid and frantic respectively.

The temperature of the room seemed to increase. She felt it in her face as the seconds passed. She dared not move, dared not look away lest whatever lurking tension spring and ruin them. She saw the same kinds of emotion moving through him as well, the same tension that kept his clenched hands a less than safe distance from her.

She shifted towards him on the couch, not quite sure what the gesture intended, and glanced down at his hand on the cushion. She frowned, feeling a disconcerted sense of shame as she tentatively reached out and touched him.

It was light. Just the tips of two fingers. They stroked along his knuckles as she warred against the desire to do more. Her expression twisted as if pained, and then she sucked in her lips.

"Jareth…" she whispered, his name the mere precipice of upheaval. She did her best to hold it back. He sensed this. He felt it in her touch. She had no idea of the sparks it left on his skin.

He was staring down at their hands, through them, at nothing. Her smell was all around him and growing stronger, taking its effect. He wasn't prepared for it. Wasn't used to it. It'd been so long...since he'd enjoyed that smell.

His hand turned and gradually opened, her touch hesitant and creeping as it moved onto his palm. His fingers lightly curled with hers, and he was surprised by how strongly that meager touch affected him. Because she allowed it. Because she reciprocated…

A feeling of bitterness seized in his throat. Her hand looked so delicate. So fragile. And it was...too far away.

She was lost in a daze of her own when he leaned forward, was caught off guard and unable to react when his arms went around her and pulled her in. She went stiff against the feeling of his torso engulfing her, the force in his arms flattening her to him. She felt his face push against her neck. Felt his arms, rigid and warm, lock like a vice around her back. He held her so tightly she was forced to look up at the ceiling. Reality caught up a second later and had her blinking rapidly. She was about to say something, but he beat her to it.

"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly wrought with something awful as his face twisted into the crook of her neck. Those words were hot. Torrid. They flushed against her hair. Her chest lifted with a rise of adrenaline, but she denied her instinctive response and instead kept rigid against him.

She said nothing. Did nothing —using every fiber of her being not to give in and reciprocate. They were still for a moment, and then she felt his fingers claw into the back of her shirt.

"Push me away if you must," he said, his voice low and muffled. She felt his posture hunch as he held her painfully close. "But I...I have to be near you."

Sudden passion made those words uneven. Sarah clenched her eyes and grimaced in the effort to stay strong.

"Jar—"

The air left her lungs when his arms flexed, nearly suffocating her as one of his hands moved up into her hair. She felt a sudden tremble move through him. A tremble.

"I'm sorry...that you were afraid to tell me," he went on, scowling intensely into her shoulder. "—That you waited so long and only did so when cornered. I don't want you to fear me anymore." His hands bunched up the fabric of her nightshirt at her back, held it taught lest he start clawing into her instead. He fell silent for a long moment, savoring her feel and her smell and the control both were having over him. He couldn't stop himself. He could barely hold back. She had no idea what she was doing to him. And he...he felt...

Sarah stared upward at the ceiling on the verge of tears. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. She just couldn't. The way he held her was everything. It moved her, and swarmed her, and was how they were supposed to be. She wanted to give into it, to get lost in it. But...there was just too much to ignore. She wouldn't let herself be distracted so easily—

"Please…" Jareth whispered, his hands uncurling achingly as they moved over her back. "...do not keep things from me. Not you. Not like this."

Sarah scowled in confusion. She had no idea what that meant, but that brief moment of clarity allowed her to truly notice the desperate way he was holding her. Like he was...about to lose her. She tried to push back, but of course failed. She was feeling worried now. He was getting really upset—

"I wasn't keeping it from you…" she said, uncertain and frightened. "I just…"

"You don't understand," he cut her off, turning his face into her hair and clutching the back of her head as if she were limp. "I won't survive it. You're doing awful things to me, and I—I can't stop." Something of despair carried those words. It made no sense to her. Made her even more alarmed— "If something ever happened to you because of something I don't know, then I—I can't save you," and then his voice cracked. "I can't see you like that. I cannot go through that again. Not with you."

His fingers against her scalp flexed, distracting her from the waver in his voice. She'd never heard words so broken. Never felt this kind of shiver in his shoulders—

Her eyes widened as realization hit. He was...talking about Aurelia, wasn't he? About the pain that had caused. Sarah felt her pulse quicken but tried to keep herself calm. He'd always been so aloof, so candid. Not for one moment did she believe he wasn't carrying a weight over that loss, and a microscopic part of her was secretly thrilled that she was right. She just never expected...it would come out like this.

She could not move her body, but managed to lift her hands and place them lightly on his back. The contact, however, only made him more rigid. She did her best to caress his shoulder.

"Jareth…"

"Please forgive me." And his voice broke completely on a sob. A sob? She felt a shudder move in his shoulders just before he readjusted his grip to cover the fact. "You don't have to mean it, but please say it." A voice Sarah had never heard spoke to her. It was higher, fractured, but somehow still Jareth's. Shock melded with a bloom deep in her chest when he sniffled and she realized— "I cannot be alone anymore."

Hopeless. He sounded hopeless. She felt a mat forming in her hair, and it was enough to petrify her. She wasn't completely sure, but was he...was he crying?

Perhaps that was the reason he clung so tightly. Maybe he had enough pride left to try and hide himself from her. And yet, she felt as if they were completely bare. Like she could see and feel everything. She wanted to appreciate the moment, to console him and tell him it would be alright, to finally know his true feelings about the past and the things he'd always denied.

She asked him nothing, however. She did not need to. The tremble in his hands and in the rhythm of his breath told her everything beyond the meaning of mere words. Of course he cared. Of course he was hurt. She was his friend and lover and partner. It was his child. He watched her die and couldn't do anything to stop it. He was scared of losing her too. Scared of being that powerless again —and for a week that same fear had been brimming in her gut. She knew why he was unhappy. Why he didn't want to believe her. Why he'd looked so shocked and horrified and angry...

She hugged him in return and turned her face towards him. There was still a lot they needed to talk about, but this...this was what mattered right now.

"Jareth...what happened to Aurelia isn't going to happen to me. You won't go through that ever again. I promise."

She heard him huff into her hair.

"You have no idea...what could happen to you—"

"I do, actually. But that doesn't mean it will."

He said nothing to that. Any retort was pointless. She was so ignorant. She had no idea of the danger she was in. If he told her the truth, what would happen? Would it be better or worse to end it all now?

But rationality was beyond him —her scent had seen to that— and he was mortified by what it had reduced him to. It pulled and pulled, and pulled from him things that should not even exist. And what did she know? He could not bring himself to explain. She could not feel as he felt —and he had never felt this before.

He could not recall her smell. It had meant nothing and had done little for him. But...he remembered the way she'd smiled —that sad tilt of the head that pitied him kindly. He never understood that look. Never understood the spark, or the panic, or the flutter, or the anguish, or the heat she'd described. It was all nothing. But now...now he writhed in all of it.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was that piece made tangible, the missing thing that separated life times.

He smiled incredulously against Sarah's shoulder, but she didn't notice. How stupid of him to be thinking of Aurelia's dreams in a moment like this. To be bitter over the thought that his smile, right now, was something she would never get to see.

Sarah continued to hold him as he settled, as his breaths became slower and silent. He was trying to keep himself composed now, but there was still stiffness in his shoulders. She sighed to herself, closing her eyes as she gently stroked his back.

"I will forgive you…" she said, then lowered her hands. "—and I will mean it. But…on one condition." He was listening. She could tell by the way he froze under hand. Sensing the opportunity, she tried to lean away. His grip loosened, and she was able to do so —placing her hands on his shoulders as they came to look at one another.

She wasn't sure what to expect, but thought maybe he would keep his gaze lowered. He didn't, however. No, instead he was fixated. He stared at her intently without any shame, and she momentarily wavered at the sight of him.

There was a highlight flickering on his lower lashes, maybe a slight redness at the corners —but nothing more. And there was a conviction about him, a return of stoic veneer that, oddly, only made him more transparent. There was no shame worth having. He did not need to hide himself from her. And she knew from that look alone that he did not want to hide. She felt very intimidated all of the sudden. That, and humbled by how openly he shared himself with her.

"Speak," he told her, and she blinked back to the moment. There was still tension about him, something substantial yet held back. Her fingers curled on his shoulders as she gathered her thoughts, as she dedicated herself to a moment she'd been waiting far too many months for.

"...No more punishments," she said, then inhaled sharply through her nose. "No more threats. No more purposefully hurting me. You want me to see myself as your equal? Treat me like it. You want me to stop being afraid? Stop giving me reasons to be." She paused to reign in her fervor, briefly glancing down as she gulped. "The way of this world is wrong, Jareth. I don't expect it to change just for me, but...I will not live like that, and I will not sit prettily while the people around me suffer. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to argue, to storm off or break things. I know I'm far from perfect, and I'm not saying I'm not in the wrong, but— just don't...don't hurt me again." Her hands curled back as a tremble caught in her voice, and suddenly his hands were cupping her face and holding her steady. His touch demanded her attention. She looked up at him nervously.

The angle of his brow conveyed a feeling of sorrow. His eyes searched hers while his thumbs stroked her cheeks. He'd never looked more serious when he uttered the words, without any hesitation,

"I won't."

Sarah's teeth clenched together to prevent herself from grimacing. She could feel more sorry emotions bubbling up. She was not ready for them yet.

She stared at him like his eyes held the world, and gripped the collar of his shirt in desperation of her own as she said,

"Promise me."

A long second passed. A part of her doubted. A part of her was ready to give up. She waited on his next word, and then he let go of her completely.

She drew back in surprise when he looked down and yanked off his gloves.

"I'll do better than promise," he said and unfastened the front of his shirt. Sarah struggled to catch up, but finally realized his intentions when a magic slice split the skin of his palm.

In a panic, she reached out and stopped him.

"No. That's not what I meant," she said, holding onto his wrist insistently. He looked up at her in frustrated confusion.

"Let me do this," he said. Sarah lowered her hand and swallowed.

"You don't get it. I don't want you to make a blood oath—"

"Why? I can see the look on your face. How else will you trust me?"

He sounded impatient, perhaps even offended. She knew what a big deal this was, what offering an oath meant among his people. Still, it wouldn't be the same...

"Jareth...I don't want you to do right by me because if you don't then you'll die," she said, then curled his wounded hand shut to slow the bleeding. "I know what you're trying to do —and believe me, I appreciate it— but I don't want you to be compelled. I want you to do right by me because it's your choice, because you believe it's what you should do." She looked down and held his hand despite the trickle of blood that smeared onto her own. "I want you to have to make that choice every single day because...if you don't, if you can't understand me, then I will not forgive you, and you will lose me. Forever. Do you see the difference?"

She sounded uncertain of herself, continuing to stroke his knuckles with bloody fingers in a compulsive manner. Jareth opened his hand and healed the wound, caring not for the mess as he reached up and held her face once more.

"I do," he said, his grip tightening. "If integrity is what you want...then I swear it."

She felt a warmth in his hands that eased her troubled heart, and closed her eyes as she gave into it, savoring the way he touched her cheeks with such carefulness. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. She believed he wanted that too...

"Then...I forgive you."

She heard him exhale. Felt his hands on her face reposition. He pulled her in closer until their foreheads touched. She half-opened her eyes to see him, feeling a calmness at the way that he, too, had closed his eyes.

"I didn't think this would be so frightening," he said, twisting his forehead against hers. "A part of me wishes it would die now so you would be safe. But…" His voice tapered off as he scowled, and she felt the return of past contention building in his hands. "I want to see you smile. I want...to feel happiness like I know I should." Exasperation made his words not so even. Sarah felt her heart breaking all over again. "I know this is not what you want, but will you allow me that much? May I...be happy for this?"

A smarting sensation moved up into Sarah's eyes and lingered. She felt such relief it became ironically painful, making her grimace despite herself. She reached up haphazardly and clung to the sleeves of his shirt.

"I want you to be happy," she said, then moved her hands to his neck. "I don't want you to be scared either." She opened her eyes to admire whatever small part of him she could see, weaving her fingers into the back of his hair restlessly. "I meant it, you know," she continued. He opened his eyes as well. "You asked me if I meant it...when I said I love you. I did. And I do. I'm sorry...I didn't answer you back in Sulu."

She watched his eyes flicker as if searching for falter, and it saddened her that he was still reluctant to believe. Her brow turned down. She didn't know how else...to assure him.

That same uncertainty made his fingers twitch against her temples, and he looked suddenly tentative when he said,

"I want...to be with you."

Sarah's brow furrowed, and she lowered her arms from his neck in confusion.

"You are?" she said. Jareth shook his head.

"No…" and he gripped her head more firmly. "I want to know. I want to be with you."

Emphasis placed on that word gave it new meaning. The way he stared at her expectantly confirmed it. He was talking about sharing pheromones, about one of the most intimate experiences the fae could have with one another. She recalled the previous time she'd done such, recalled how close and unbridled and severe they'd been. She was ignorant of its significance at the time, but now it meant more to her too. Her eyes caught in a deadlock as she quickly nodded, pursing her lips together in a display of bashfulness.

Jareth pulled away, and her eyes compulsively lowered as she braced. He regarded her for a moment, trying to gauge the level of effect her scent was already having on him, and wondered whether or not the next moments would be something he could control.

But she was such an ache in his heart. Such a potent thing. The only thing. The only one who mattered or meant anything at all. And she was there, and she was willing, and she was sad, and frightened, and breathtaking in a white cotton button-down. And he wanted nothing more than to be with her, to be hers in return. To be compromised. To be one. That was his answer. Liana, did you hear?

The charge latent in the air felt foreboding, but to be overwhelmed was what was needed. To be enveloped and enraptured, and gone, and gone, and gone in each other.

The smell of her body was making him dramatic —he knew it clearly. He tried to temper his fervor with slow movements as he lifted a hand and pressed his thumb to her forehead. It lingered, then slowly pulled down. Sarah sat silently, noting the same tingling sensation as before. His magic passed into her, ignited a part of her being that could only exist with him, and she welcomed it. He pulled his hand away, but the spot remained warm. They both closed their eyes as they pressed their foreheads together again, holding each other steady in preparation against a boundless quietude.

"Don't hold back," he whispered, and she didn't.

The last time they'd done this, they'd already been in the throws. She wondered if it would feel any different now, if the experience would be more or less intense. Mariella told her once that pheromone release didn't have to be sexual, that it could mean different things and be felt in different ways based on the emotion. In shared silence, she sorted through what exactly the nature of their emotions were, and found herself wondering if she was at all ready for it.

When she felt the change, she was relieved that it was the same as before. It came on gradually, building as a heat that weighed down her eyes.

She breathed in softly, concentrating, and felt that heat move down to her cheeks. Her heart picked up a beat, which ignited a flush that swept suddenly over her entire body.

It was so strong she swayed from it, relying on his hold of her to keep her in place. Her hands readjusted, fisting the fabric covering his biceps as she took in another, deeper breath. The warmth in her face was unnatural and far too acute. She could already feel perspiration forming on her upper lip.

His hands around either side of her head moved farther back, fidgeting almost, and she wondered if he was feeling the same. Whatever she felt next would be his pheromones, his feelings. She had no idea how to interpret it, no idea if whatever she exuded meant the same in return.

Her mouth turned to cotton, which prompted her to lick her lips. Her head twisted a little, her parted mouth coming closer to his in a way too sly for either one to notice.

But the heat of her breath seemed hotter than it actually was. It felt welcoming, enticing. He felt the inclination of his head mirror hers as he moved in closer.

"...are your eyes hot too?" she asked.

Jareth's eyes opened to slivers. He saw nothing, but his nose pressed against hers and the crest of her upper lip had touched him when she spoke. She sounded uncertain. Like she needed reassurance. One of his hands, creeping towards the back of her head, curled possessively into her hair…

"They're on fire," he said, and couldn't stop the motion of his mouth sealing over hers.

Sarah's hands tightened in his shirt and braced. He'd barely leaned, but the movement still felt startling against the sudden absence of her equilibrium. She tipped back, and he caught her by the shoulder, counteracting the motion by pulling her forward lest their mouths separate.

The way he tasted was...different. It felt different, somehow. She felt her tongue curl into his mouth in search of more as a sudden ravenousness built, as the need to be closer and closer surged alongside the heat that now spidered downward and boiled her blood.

Her own insistence surprised her, or rather the rate it was growing. There was a particular kind of excitement that came from simply touching him, from the feel of the threads of his shirt, from the soft creases in his lips, from the tingle of his breath on her cheek. The picture before her turned vague while the details became more poignant, and the heat now moving to her nose gave her a distinct smarting sensation. This was happening quicker than before, she thought fleetingly. Was there a reason for it? Did it mean something? She was not a fae. She didn't know how to read these things. But...this was how they communicated. How they showed their true selves. He was trying to tell her something. She wanted to understand it, desperately.

Some unnamed feeling made its way into her heart, weighed it down, and made her aware of each and every thump. It twisted deep inside in a way that made her grimace. It was an ache. It was a yearning. A frustration, and a bitterness, and a desire...

To be one. It was the desire to be one. She had no idea how she knew that. No idea where the epiphany came from or why. It was...inexplicable in a sense, and she realized that was precisely because it was a sense incomprehensible to her. It felt external, a force that surrounded every molecule in the air and of her being and was pushing its way in and winding through cracks that had only opened because she wanted them too. Was this...him? Was she understanding the scent? She didn't know how that could be possible; but what she felt, what she heard echoed in her heart and in her head made sense. It made sense. It felt right, and safe, and welcoming, and not nearly, even remotely close to enough.

His lips molded to hers in ways well-practiced, in ways she liked, ways she knew. Her hands moved up around his neck as she pulled him as close as possible, mapping his teeth and his tongue and the soft sounds that vibrated his throat while the artery there pulsed strongly under her hand.

The misplaced sound of her own breath distracted her, and it made her realize they weren't kissing nearly as passionately as she'd thought they'd been. Beyond the fire, everything was silent. Their touches were slow and light. She could feel every detail —every minor tug, every careful graze, the trace amount of moisture that made their lips stick before pulling ever so slightly apart. Even his hands were barely touching her, fingers toying with a lock of hair near her neck. These circumstances confused her. The ardency was all in her head. That feeling of unbridlement...it was supposed to be in her head.

Jareth pulled away and angled his head down, resting his nose along hers as he sifted his fingers through her hair.

"It feels...like we're plummeting, doesn't it?" he asked. Sarah swallowed and licked her lips, confused and yet relieved by the fact that she understood him perfectly. She nodded in silence, incapable of forming words. "The way you affect me...affects how I affect you. And I've never…" and his voice trailed off, his mouth gradually lowering towards her neck. "I've never…"

His lips touched her skin, leaving a soft kiss on the spot below her ear. She leaned her neck to the side, blinking slowly as the minor movement made the entire room turn. The air felt thick. Like a fog. Like something tangible that could be taken. She swayed as the flickering light from the hearth created an illusion of vision fading. He was holding her taut by the back of the neck now, his other hand pulling the hem of her shirt over one shoulder. She felt his mouth there next. Felt a sharp heat pool on the bone.

Whatever he said was beyond her. She had no interest in words. This thing surrounding them was speaking in motion, pulling her apart from the inside out in ways so slow it felt like floating on the tide.

She scrunched her shoulder while looking down, meeting him half way when he was forced to pull back. He peered up and locked eyes. Their expressions were both half lidded and hazed, but somehow they still saw each other clearly. Her chest rose on a breath before taking hold of him with both hands and kissing him in that way she imagined.

She held him in a deadlock, seemingly frozen in place by a kiss that would not end. Jareth's hands moved lower, bracing her by the lower back as she arched herself towards him. The action lifted the hem of her shirt. A spot of warm skin grazed the tips of his fingers, the goosebumps that then formed inviting him to do more as he reached underneath and splayed both hands up her bare back.

He could feel her muscles moving, twisting and turning her as she angled her body towards him. His hands moved higher, up her spine, between the blades of her shoulders, to the short tufts of hair at the base of her neck. There was such friction in that small space between her skin and her clothing. It dared him to make it spark by touching her even more.

She sat up on her knees facing him when his hands moved around her ribs, feeling down the flat plane of her stomach before reaching back around again. His hair was knotted in her fingers, and she used it to maneuver him as her kisses bore deeper.

One hand left her back, and she soon felt it tugging free the top button on her shirt. Next it was his mouth to leave her. She gasped for breath when his head angled down to trace hot circles over her neck.

He nipped at the skin, but it felt like so much more. She clenched her eyes and grimaced as something of upheaval suddenly overtook her. It made her sob, made her cling to him. She heard him gasp in response, but neither stopped to question what it meant when he leaned her back against the seat of the couch.

She laid down effortlessly, eyes caught in the shadows of the rafters as the weight of the room bore down. But no, no, that was his body. He was overtop her. Holding her. Kissing her tenderly with a manner that was altogether insatiable.

Those kisses felt like pain, but the ache was in her heart. She clung to the back of his shoulders and savored each one. There was something...so lost about it all. Something broken and afraid, and that made both no and every sense. Her heart pounded for him. And she knew...somehow she knew…

That the torrent of things he kept inside were now inside her too, until finally no manner of kiss or touch could constrain it. The feeling, his feelings, their feelings made manifest overwhelmed her utterly, springing forth in a sudden fit of tears as she dug her hands fiercely into his shoulders.

Her legs wrapped around him, and she seemed to be hugging him for dear life as molten tears streamed down to fall on his cheek. He paused and let go, beginning to pull away and look at her when she started shaking her head from side to side.

"J-Jareth. I-it's too much. Please. It's too much."

She was begging, but had no idea what for. Jareth leaned up to his elbows, brushing away the wet streaks even as she continued to shake her head no.

"I know," he said, softly, as his hand touched the side of her face. "I feel it too."

He stared down at her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. He ceased his advances altogether and gave her a moment to settle, but she only stared up at him with wide, glass eyes.

"No," she said, and yanked him down by the collar. "I don't...want you to stop."

The look on her face was twisted in pain and did not match her plea at all. Alas, it was something he understood too well. The pain was within, after all, was an agony of choice. It was something they shared, viscerally, by the magic that bound them. It begged to find connection. It begged to be acknowledged. He felt from her all the things he craved, and lamented, and thrived for, and he gave them back tenfold. Yes, yes, sweet thing, it was too much. And no, no, he would never stop.

He kissed her through the tears and smothered her cries, and she positively wilted. Scent of a thousand degrees rendered their ardor with such intensity it was as if they made the fire in the background itself burn brighter, turning their silhouettes to blackness while everything and everything became white and searing. She felt his urgency. Felt his desperation. She felt him clinging like this shackle of avarice was nothing more than a single thread, like it was something that might snap and send her away. And she knew these things. She knew these metaphors and these fears. She saw them painted in scents deep in her heart.

Her back bowed against the couch when his body moved against her, grinding in a way that had her thighs squeezing his hips. She arched her neck back and offered it to him, breathing heavily while he sucked down to the swell of her breasts. His hands traveled over her until they found the part in her shirt, then undid the buttons one by one while licks and kisses pushed the halves apart.

He grasped one of her breasts and brought it to his mouth, sucking on the ample flesh while twisting her nipple between two fingers. She let out a gasp, a breathy, frightful sound, and arched higher towards him when he turned to flick his tongue around the hardened bud.

The tip of his tongue traced teasing circles, then tapped on the peak before drawing it in. She moaned when he sucked back, drawing out her nipple before repeating the motions all over again. Her lower half squirmed beneath him, searching for any kind of release, but was halted by the weight of his free hand pushing down on her hip. She felt his fingers slide under the waist of her bottoms, felt them inching down to grasp the flesh of her ass.

She held the back of his head and spread her legs wider when he thrust against her again. She could feel his erection, feel it firmly push and pull back over her clit through the layers of their clothing. His mouth moved back to her neck, so she turned and looked at the fire. It was dancing now. Impassioned like them. It was like she could see themselves reflected there, engulfed and scorched and utterly blithe.

He pulled her open shirt down her arms, and she leaned up to help remove it. Both his hands went to her ribs, holding her suspended as he kissed a path from her sternum to her navel.

The last time he'd done that, she'd been afraid, she'd closed her eyes, she'd prayed he wouldn't know. That memory, however, was gone. She stared down at him brazenly, hungrily, and turned her hips up to meet each and every kiss. He closed his eyes and grazed his nose around her belly, seeming to savor something specific that had his eyes rolling behind closed lids. A look of ecstasy that was, and seeing it come about in a manner so primal had her insides twisting hot with arousal.

He dragged his tongue down her stomach, pausing to kiss the hem of her underwear before taking both it and her pajamas in both hands and yanking them down in one fell swoop. He leaned up, and she helped kick them away, giving her a pointed view as he reached for the bottom of his own shirt next and pulled it up and over his head.

She admired the shadows cast over his torso, ones that accentuated the muscle in his shoulders and the soft V between his hips as he tossed his shirt to the floor alongside her own, before falling over her once more. The weight of his body had his knee and his hands sinking into the cushions, putting her at an angle that rocked as he adjusted his posture. He held her by the jaw and kissed her neck while kicking off his boots, curling his thumb into her mouth which she eagerly sucked.

Her tears had dried. The feeling was still there, taking her heart asunder, but it had since found rhythm. It had found its place. Untamable things nestled between them, kept them connected and closer in ways she'd never thought possible. It was a chaos bound —much like magic itself, she imagined. Was this...love? Was this its scent? Was that something to be quantified and labeled? Or was it...the amalgamation of a thousand notions and a thousand different feelings? All she knew for sure...was that he cherished her. That he desired her. That he lamented any thing that was not her.

The love of another person was not something one was meant to physically feel, she told herself. It was to be imagined and projected, and not something her body was designed to fathom so literally. Still, the wreckage it left was proof of its existence. The fact that she only wanted more and more of it was proof enough. Her hands touched his chest and felt his heart pound wildly against it. And that, that was enough.

He reached down and unfastened his pants, using the opportunity to twist his hand and push his fingers inside her. She was already open; his middle and ring finger slid in easily.

Her body tensed and held itself in place, succumbing to rather than enduring the thrusts of his hand as his fingers moved up to the knuckle then back out again. She moaned and dropped her mouth open, struggling for worthwhile breath amidst that humid, cluttered atmosphere.

Fluids thickened by arousal coated his fingers, and he withdrew to free himself from his pants. She helped push them down, but stopped halfway when he deftly positioned and pushed himself fully inside her.

Her limbs curled around him, reacting on instinct as a sharp moan escaped her. Jareth moaned as well, a deeper, guttural sound that came muffled against her neck. One hand braced her hip and held her there, the other was cast above her head. They both hovered motionless for a moment, and then he began to move.

He pulled out then thrust in again, finding less resistance and reaching to the hilt. He screwed his eyes shut and moaned loudly from the feeling, from the exponential increase in severity that he'd been too caught up to anticipate. Sarah's body moved with him, holding him by the shoulders and burying her face in the crook of his neck as she endured the same. She could only brace for the moment, her breath turning to pants, to flighty little moans that peaked on every thrust.

Aroma flooded his every sense as he moved in and out, as he filled, and stretched, and drank in the intoxication she gave him by the pleasure he caused. He moved thoroughly, deliberately, focusing on every point of contact as she moaned wantonly in his ear. And, despite her tears and his proclamation, it really was almost too much. He'd never felt such tethers. Never felt so bound to another creature. He smelled her. Her child. Their child. And it...it overtook him. Her unrefined, frenetic human pheromones, without direction or restraint, possessed him. Made him a thing to be swallowed. And he was. He was as he strived: enraptured, enslaved, gone.

The weight of the air hit him unexpectedly, and a sense of vertigo broke his rhythm. He had to pause, swaying and blinking arduously as if the room had gone out of view. Sarah watched his head twist, watched his shoulders buckle above her. A flush had built on his face that she was sure mirrored her own, and his breathing came rough and unevenly. He was overwhelmed as well, wasn't he? Feeling the same things, breathing the same hot air, and enduring it all with the same crippling euphoria. She reached up and touched his face, grounding him back to the moment. He opened his eyes and looked at her, peered deeply into abyss so green and rimmed red by absent tears.

He regained composure and reached up to brush her cheek. And he thought, with a kind of rejoice, that there was nothing more worthwhile than a touch so slight. She blinked slowly because of it, stared misty-eyed with a complexion brightened by passion and the light of night fire.

"I love you," he said, and she smiled.

"I know."

The highlight on her eyes glimmered, ending in a tear that beaded at the outer corners. The knowing he regarded in that look bore to depths he never expected, and he could actually feel her understanding pass through the layered air. He'd expected her to have a visceral experience. He'd expected her to be overcome. But...to truly see him in this most honest way, beyond the bindings of species and worlds, and believe him was a privilege he would never take for granted. And it was the same...the same look he remembered on Aurelia, the same pleasant smile that came when she knew something he did not. He understood her so much better now, he thought. He'd finally found that better thing to compare it to.

He kissed her again, lingering until all else faded from thought, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He whispered for her to brace, and she did. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her and moved them to the floor. A pillow for her head replaced his hand, and a finely spun blanket, cool and smooth to the touch, awaited her back as he laid her down. He finished removing his clothing and laid out against her, admiring all that she was under fading yellow light. An arm went around and cradled her, and hers went to him in return.

His kiss took its time as they drifted into one another, as his other hand moved down her side and held her leg bent while easing back in. The feeling that followed was no longer so overwhelming. Untamable things gentled by the lock of their eyes, by the touch of their kiss, by the things that were one, that they shared, that they had claimed as their own from the bottom of the other's heart.

---

A/N- Did we make it? I feel like I might have went a little overboard with the poetry, but how else is one to fathom an unfathomable experience if not in profound metaphor and melodramatic fashion? Firstly, before you say anything, yes, I am well aware that there are still many issues from the last chapter that still need to be addressed, regarding the whole Delphine ordeal specifically. Believe me, it will be dealt with lol. Second, I've been really happy by the positive responses I've gotten to Aurelia's character and her storyline. While her flashbacks have been studiously building up to this moment, I want to assure you that her part in the story is not finished. We will see her again. Also breathe easy knowing that the next couple of chapters are...lighter in nature lol. Not exactly filler, but I think everyone could use some happy sub-plot time after all this drama. Amara is due to make her appearance soon, too, so...you know where that's going. *wink* Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I'm kind of nervous about this one, as I am whenever I write something with personal influence. Ah, but I guess it's too late now. We're at the end of the author's note. Thank you for waiting so patiently. Til next time!